


Gods have no desires

by Nightbirdsong



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Assassin's Creed AU, Come to the dark side, Fantasy AU, Kinda, M/M, Smut, please see the a/n for possible trigger warnings, sometimes, there is not a hero
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-05-24 13:44:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 146,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14955776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightbirdsong/pseuds/Nightbirdsong
Summary: Sometimes the things you believe to be true, are not. And sometimes you are not who you thought you would be, when you were a child.The world does not speak of those, who leave the path of light. Some could have been heroes, if only their fate would have been a different one.Seven years ago, Jongdae looked into eyes of indigo and Baekhyun looked into those of a murderer. But perhaps, he has to learn that a murderer sometimes is the one doing the right thing, while a hero is wrong.





	1. Prolog

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to the agony I lived with for three entire months. 
> 
> First of all I would like to thank my Beta reader and personal cheerleader, psychologist, for staying with me on this journey - picking up the shards of my ideas and helping me piece them together, for leaving comments on the google doc that made me laugh, cry and shake my head at her.  
> Thank you, psychologist, for listen to me whine when I got stuck, work with me through my blocks and reminding me whenever I used a character twice.  
> Yes, I am an idiot and three months is a long time to work on something like this! 
> 
> With that being said, hear me out: TRIGGER WARNINGS! APPLY! TO THIS STORY!  
> There will be graphic violence, lots of blood and minor character death. Some scenes are rather graphic, some are vague. During the first third of the story, there will be a torture scene that is rather detailed and might be hard to stomach.  
> ADDITIONAL TRIGGER WARNINGS: There will be hints at underage sex, dubcon and abusive relationships between m/m, f/m and even f/f.  
> We have characters with physical disabilities such as paralysis, ablepsia and mutism. There are mentions of dead children as well, but I will try and warn my readers before each chapter, what will await them. 
> 
> Ok, as I am wiping the sweat off my forehead: Please leave us some comments (me, to be honest, psychologist just wants to compare her own comments to others so she doesn't feel like she's the only one gushing over this hah). Kudos are appreciated, but each comment I get will get my cat some treats. Yes, this is emotional blackmail. 
> 
> Please enjoy!

People always tell the stories of heroes.  
Heroes, who shine brighter than the sun, who are what the world needs and deserves. They tell tales of those heroes defeating the villains who haunt our nights - who defeat death itself.   
And they say, that a villain could have been a hero, if only their fate would have been a different one.   
But none of these legends ever speak of those, who are forgotten. The heroes, who wander into the dark and become the greatest horrors of them all. History does not speak of them.   
Because all the world knows is the good. And yet, some people whisper that they have seen the evils that are hidden behind the shining armor of a man, who might have become a hero, if only his fate might have been a different one. 

The sand under his fingers is soft and warm, the lingering heat of the sun still clinging to the grains that now push under his fingernails, into the cuts along his palms and knees. It sticks to his skin with his sweat and he breathes in the burn of the sunset that bathes the scenery around him in a burning, fiery light. The dunes around him are silent, except for the panting breaths cutting through the upcoming night like the knife that cut through the muscles of his upper arm.  
“Kill him.”, his master says from where she stands above him on the top of the dune, looking down at him with blue gleaming eyes, face shrouded by the shadows of her hood that is still pulled up around her long, perfectly braided hair. She looks like the statue of a god up there, staring him down. “Kill the apprentice and the deed is done.”   
His eyes stray from hers then, to the boy cowering over the prone form of the man whose throat he slit open with a clean single strike, his own fingers sticky with blood that is now clumping up the sand he is gripping as if it were a lifeline. The boy is sobbing, his shoulders shaking with violent tremors as he clings to the bloody fabric of his own master’s tunic, fingers gripping the piece of clothing so tight, it might as well be ripping apart underneath his touch.   
“If you don't kill him now.”, his mistress says from above, her voice hard and icy like steel. “He will grow up to be your hunter. He will be light, where you are shadow. And the light always erases the dark, my student. Unless the light is vanquished before it ignites.”  
“Ignites.”, he echoes hollowly and even though it is not a question, his mistress answers: “The spark of revenge, boy. So if you kill him now, will you not have surpassed me, finally? Are you ready to rise above your teacher, or are you willing to slay me when the time for you has come? It is this boy, or you facing me in battle one day.”  
He rises then, muscles protesting and the raw skin of his knees aching with the movement. The dagger weights heavy in his hand, his fingers flexing so hard his knuckles hurt, white underneath his skin. Even standing straight like this, he feels small when he sees the looming form of his mistress wandering down the dune to step up to his side, a hand gracing the back of his neck as if she is caressing him and yet he knows she is nothing but taunting him with those gentle touches of hers. 

He is well acquainted with the contact of her skin on his. She not only taught him how to kill, after all. 

“Kill him.”, the woman whispers into his ear and he twitches where he stands, body torn between the need to lean into her words and mouth and the other desperately needing to step away from her. To bring distance between himself and this sand snake that will strike him down without even batting an eyelash at his blood, no matter if she was the one who trained him for years, was his mother and sister and lover all in one. “Bring me his pretty little head. He’s the enemy, my student. He’s a child of the Gods we seek to kill. Remember your creed.”  
He steps forward then, breathing in when the proximity of her body next to his leaves him and the fading sunlight reflects coldly off his skin, off the silver of his blade.   
The boy isn’t looking up at him even while he steps closer, feet pushing into the puddles of the man’s blood that spreads through the sand under his fallen body. The sword the man wielded against him is still in his grasp, as if he is refusing to let go of it even in death.  For days those two chased after them, but now he isn’t so sure anymore, who was the hunter and who was the prey. Perhaps it was an ever shifting back and forth, their roles reversed over and over and over until he didn’t know what was real and what was lie anymore.   
“Are you not going to face death like a man?”, he asks loudly and the boy’s sobbing comes to a sudden halt, his head snapping up to look at him and he feels his own breath hitching, can taste his own heartbeat on his tongue, heavy and steadily pulsing with adrenaline. “Are you going to die on your knees, child of light?”  
“Does it make a difference?”, the boy asks and there is something throbbing underneath his skin suddenly, an itch in his fingers as if he can’t decide if he wants to kill this apprentice, or not.   
  
“If you don’t kill me now, I will die on my knees no matter what.” 

He breathes in, pauses. Confused, he turns his head to the side, seeking for the shadow of his mistress behind himself and she is there, smirking at him from underneath her hood. There is red on her lips from the blow she took to the face and for a moment he thinks he wants to taste it, wants to slant his mouth over hers and drive his dagger deep into her body to be rid of these bindings she put onto him. A goddess of the dark, truly. And the spell she has on him chips away ever so slightly when he hears the tears in the boys voice as he says: “I will be a child of the streets, no more light for me. You killed my master. My father.”  
“He will avenge this man, sooner or later.”, his mistress whispers from the back and he tightens his hold on his sword as he meets the boys eyes for the first time. They are blue, like the sky just before sunset. So deep of an indigo color, they could as well be sapphires.   
“I know what you see.”, comes the dreaded voice, so close to his ear the hair in the back of his neck is rising in protest. “You can see your own future in those eyes, can’t you? The promise of heat that prickles under your scalp.” Her fingernails scratch over his head then, through his hair and over his skin and the prickling races down his spine. “There shall be darkness, where the light shines bright. Perhaps he is yours and you are his. We all know that one day we will end up dying for each other, at each others hands. Kill him now. Be rid of it. And you shall be free.”  
And here they are, still looking at each other while he lets out the breath he was holding in so tightly, his lungs feel like they are about to burst, the sun now so low in the sky, the golden light doesn’t touch them anymore. They kill the light, as they are born from the shadows..   
He was taught this creed ever since he could think and yet… yet he can’t rip his eyes away from this boy’s face, from the red tracks of his tears and his bronze skin. Indigo like the sea after a storm.   
He knows his own are nearly black by now and one day there will be no color left in them. Each step he takes towards the dark will swallow a little bit of the color still left in him. He wishes he could have eyes of indigo. 

“Be free of this. Surpass the light.”  
He is bleeding and yet he feels no pain. 

Instead there is power, pulsing through his body, stronger and stronger still, the longer he looks down at the kneeling boy, the way his hands are relaxed on the dead mans back. He is not scared of death and this - this knowledge - scares  _ him.  _ When his blade strikes, it’s through the softness of a warm body that collapses easily into his arms, the swell of subtle breasts against his own chest when he holds her against him, feels her laughter on the side of his neck, the dampness of her blood through his tunic.   
“You will tear each other apart.”, she whispers into his ear before her bloodied hand cups his cheek and her lips press into his, his body remembering the touch and leaning into it, kissing her goodbye the first and final time. “And I hope he will rip out your heart and feed it to you while you’re alive.”  
He walks away with two heads in the bag of his saddle, blood marking his way like twisted breadcrumbs. What he leaves behind is not only death, but the spark that will ignite him.   
And when the day comes, he swears while turning his back to the faint silver line of dying light, he will welcome death as if he were an old friend. Because humans should be scared of death. Gods should be not.


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting the first chapter right after the prologue because, well, it's rather short. It's kind of difficult to split this story into proper chapters, so I will probably post two chapters every time I update, depending on the length.

The silver that dangles over his wrist is cold, as if it were made of ice.   
He flinches, the chain swinging away from his skin and then back again, striking him like a whip and he hisses, rips the charm away from his arm and tosses it to the side, watches it slide into the shadow between the wooden floorboards with a sick feeling of satisfaction. He wore this for far too long.   
“Murderer.”, bubbles over crimson lips and he smiles, squads down to the struggling body on the floor to wipe away the blood on his blade, carefully pushing it back into the sheath hidden underneath his sash, still slightly askew from the way the dying man had ripped at it in the throes of lust, in the need to get it off his body to get his hands on his skin.   
“Why?”, Zhoumi asks and the red that is dripping down his skin froths around the edges of his split lips. “Why are you doing this? I promised you a better life. I would have-”  
“Never left your wife and children for a streetrat like me.”, he finishes the sentence with a smile while he slides down onto the floor, crossing his legs so he can lean his elbow on his knee, hand supporting his chin as he watches the man in front of him twist and struggle - and die. Only minutes left for him to breathe, what with the way his dagger slid between his ribs to spread them open. The air is whistling out of his torso with each breath he takes, shuddering with the effort of it. Breathing should not be so hard.

“You would have lived such a good life.”, Zhoumi answers him with a rattling breath and he cocks his head to the side, smiling. “The money I have on me today will hardly last you a week.”  
“I’m not killing you for your money.”, he replies easily and the question written on the dying man’s face is so clear, he answers it without it even being said out loud. There is no strength left for words now.   
He leans forward slowly, letting the ray of light streaming through the gaps in the door illuminate his face, his skin and eyes that are slowly dripping back into the color they are meant to be.   
Zhoumi’s own widen, flickering back and forth between the curl of his lips and the black of his eyes, air wheezing through his lungs and throat and out of the whole pierced into his side.   
“A devil come to haunt me.”, the merchant whispers, weak fingers scrambling for the silver around his neck, for the prayer beads and charms strung into the front of his robes. “Devil.”  
“God.”, he corrects softly, still smiling. “Gods you deny existing.”  
“Jongdae-”, Zhoumi starts and it is evident in his quivering voice that he is about to beg for his life even while it is seeping out of him and all over the floor. “Please.”  
“Even if I wanted to let you live.”, he says silently, bending down to kiss him on the cheek in a cruel mirror of the way he did this for weeks before. “I couldn’t reverse the blow to your body. A knife is a knife. And a human body is a human body.”  
“The beauty of this world is all corrupted.”, Zhoumi whispers and those are his final words.   
He sits there, looking down at the body even after he stops fighting for breath, still and silent on the rough wooden floor, hands still clutching his charms and prayer ornaments.  
Yes, he thinks while running his fingers through the blood on Zhoumi’s mouth, bringing it up to his own to push his fingertips onto his tongue and feel his soul throb in his chest. All beauty is corrupted. 

 

“I welcome you, brother.”, Yixing says from where he is sitting high on top of the broken pillar by the entrance of the temple, one knee bent to support the weight of his arm, the other foot dangling back and forth against the white stone. “You were gone for long.”  
Jongdae scoffs, looking up at Yixing from underneath his hood, shaking it away from his head so the other can see his face. There is no brown left anymore, just black and flickering shards of gold - gold that is also painted down from his forehead and down over his eyelids, all the way to his jaw.   
He feels complete with the markings of mastership after a successful kill, the weeks he had to forgo the ritual of painting them onto his skin too long and having his skin feeling tight across his bones.   
“I see you have been successful in your mission.”, Yixing calls from above and Jongdae nods, waiting for the taller man to slide down from the rock, vanishing in the stark black shadow behind it before he appears from around the back of the pillar, hand gracefully sliding along the old, worn out paint decorating the stone. “As your fellow master, I congratulate you. The trials will be in our favor this moon. We are rising strong.”   
“We are.”, Jongdae agrees as he starts walking again, pulling the sash from around his hips and letting it fall carelessly into the sand that is shrouding the entrance of the temple, the stained fabric fluttering uselessly in the breeze whipping around them from the desert. The air inside the temple is cool and welcoming, the shadows curling around the both of them like the arms of a lover and he breathes, shrugging out of the long black cloak and the vest underneath.   
He throws them away just like he did with the sash, sure that an apprentice will pick them up sooner or later. Or not. Let the desert claim what comes from the desert.   
“Did you let him die quickly?”, Yixing asks and Jongdae shoots him a look, lips curling back in disgust as he remembers the way the man’s hands had slid over his skin, dirtying him with the way he looked at him - so wantonly, so hungrily. As if Jongdae was nothing more than a piece of meat.

“I let him drown in his own blood.”, he shoots back and Yixing laughs, a hand curled up in front of his mouth entirely too prettily for a man whose eyes have been black for years now, whose skin is so white by now, Jongdae can see the veins running underneath it, webbing across his face and bare arms. He is so close to divinity, he barely looks human at all. Jongdae asks himself, if he looks like this too and the mirrors are lying, or if he will ever appear the way Yixing does. A child of the dark through and through.   
'“He deserves nothing less.”, his brother agrees with a nod and stretches out an arm to guide Jongdae through a curtain of cluttering beads as they duck into a low hallway, the rays of white from the lightwells above flickering across the walls with their shadows. “The ground a man who lets his people starve for his own profit should never be worshipped.”  
“Those people might disagree with you.”, Jongdae answers him with a flick of his wrist, brushing through another curtain and out into the hall that branches off into their quarters, the low tinkle of water flowing calling out to him like the voice of a mother. “He was, after all, a merchant loved by his household and family. Such a noble man, who picks up street rats and lures them into bed with him with milk and honey.”  
“My dear, dear little rat.”, Yixing whispers into his ear and Jongdae grunts, turns away from the breath of seduction that is ringing all too clearly in the other man’s voice. Yixing is good at this, always was.   
Perhaps he should have let Yixing kill the merchant, he thinks while relenting and letting his brother pull him out of his tunic, the garment forgotten as he is pushed backwards into the baths, boots toed off his feet in a hurry before he falls into the water with his pants still on, Yixing laughing above him before he turns away and vanishes back towards the hall and the quarters, leaving Jongdae to wash away the sweat and sand from his journey back into the temple.   
But Jongdae chose to take this man’s life himself. No blood is sweeter than that of a man, whose soul is tainted by the innocence he destroyed. No king, no queen, no lord or lady. They all pale in comparison to the feeling of innocence robbed. He smiles to himself as he cleans the gold away from his face, his reflection pale in the clearness of the water under his fingers. If only the world could see that all beauty is corrupted by the men, who bemoan the loss of it. 

The temple is silent still when Jongdae emerges from the baths, dressed in loose linen pants and a sleeveless red tunic, the white sash around his middle tightly bound to keep the dagger pressed against his middle. It’s a weight that grounds him, a sentiment he took away from a bloody night in the desert so long ago he can barely remember.   
“Master.”, Jisoo greets him with a bow as he brushes into his quarters, her kneeling form rigid on the pillow by the terrace, hands folded tightly in her lap. He spares her a glance before walking over to the low closet by the wall, pouring himself a cup of wine, taking a sip as he turns to look at her, leaning back against the closet with his ankles crossed in front of him.   
“Why are you not with the other apprentices, training?”, Jongdae asks her slowly, tilting the cup so he can see the edge of the ground lilac cling to the silver at the edge of the liquid. It will calm his nerves, but not his soul. After a kill, he feels restless. “Is there something I should know of?”  
“My master.”, the girl says softly and inclines her head. “I was hoping to train under your guidance tonight. It’s been long since you have been with us. I missed your teachings.”  
Jongdae contemplates her for a long, silent minute. He sips his wine, pushes the liquid from one cheek into the other, feels the film of the lilac coat his teeth. Then he sighs, sets the cup down and takes a step towards her.   
“Even if you miss my teachings, apprentice, you can not skip the training with the other students without my approval. No matter if you seek me out for a personal lesson.”, he tells the girl and bends down to pull her chin up with two of his fingers, locking eyes with her. They are still a pretty, molten color of honey and mahogany. She trembles, but nods.   
“Come on.”, he says then, a little bit easier in tone and posture, beckoning her up from her knees and giving her a smile that has her smiling right back, trusing. The goblet of wine is still in his hand as they leave his quarters, Jisoo two steps behind him as he strides ahead, steps muffled by the slight coating of sand that always falls through the light wells in the ceilings whenever there is a sandstorm roaring through the desert and around the temple. They are nestled into the dunes by now, parts of the building hidden so deeply in the sand, only the dead gods would be able to dig it out of there.   
By the time the floods are coming to turn the sandlands back into a thriving oasis, the temple will be running with water, the parts now hidden in the sand breaking open with the floods that will force the entire order out into the cities until the storms pass.   
Jongdae already dreads the thought of it. 

“Master.”, Jisoo suddenly says slowly and Jongdae stops, turning to look at her over his shoulder and he follows her gaze, down into the pit. The walkway they are standing on is high above the lowest levels of the temple, a solid wall to Jongdae’s left and a seemingly bottomless abyss to the left, ending in the sandy cave the high sanctuary was built over. The rows of students standing on the sand moves as one, gentle movements of their bodies that flow with the words of one of the grand masters standing at the front, arms behind his back and eyes scanning over a book laid out for him on a high table. The incarnation of discipline, shaped by the sacred scrolls the dead gods left behind for them to find and follow.   
“Why do we repeat those lessons so often?”, Jisoo asks with a soft tilt of her head and Jongdae watches as her soft black hair falls around her face and over her shoulders, braids and feathers slipping over her sun kissed skin. She looks so alive next to the pale of his own skin, the pale of the light where it reflects off of the sandstone walls and floors.   
“Only if you repeat the teachings until your body remembers them without your thoughts following, you are perfect.”, Jongdae tells her, reciting the words that have been branded into his mind for years before he was allowed to wear the gold streaking down his face. “Only by the perfection of your body, your soul is ready to ascent into godhood. And by skipping those lessons, you will only delay your own ascending, my apprentice.”  
She shoots him a look, half angry and half curious and perhaps he can even see a little bit of fear in there, the scrape of her teeth along her bottom lip hard and drawing blood.   
With a sigh, he reaches out for her face, capturing it with two his fingers to tilt her head towards himself, studying her features with critically squinted eyes. “You have been neglecting your body. Have I not told you-”  
“You told me that the body is only the vessel of our human soul. And I see the other apprentices and adepts changing with their kills. My body will be changed, master. Taking care of it will rob me of the time I need to study the ancient texts you are giving me to read.”  
“That.”, Jongdae tells her, voice hard as his grip on her chin tightens and he sees her wince, her eyes flickering away from the unnatural black of his own and to the side, down to the pit once more. “Is false. Your body is human, as is your soul and if it is destroyed, the godhood will reject you.”  
He lets go of her with a huff then, dropping his hand so quickly, he might as well have slapped her across the cheek, her whole body jerking away from him. She should fear him, Jongdae thinks to himself as he turns away and starts walking again, long steps down the walkway and into a low winding tunnel, away from the pit and the private quarters of the masters and their students.   
Fear, not trust, was what kept him alive back in the desert.   
His mistress would have killed him if he faced her in battle as it is tradition.   
A student has to surpass the master to become an adept himself. Either by killing them, or by permission of the master. It comes one way or the other and Jongdae chose to save himself, rather than keeping the woman alive who made sure to drill him so hard, he could have never failed her.   
And yet he failed her by driving a sword through her middle, only because he couldn’t bring himself to stomp out another indigo light. He refuses to believe her poison words that there was a different reason. That it was the boy he didn’t want to kill - the hunter he set free upon himself.   
He can hear Jisoo behind him breathing softly, the drizzle of sandy grains down the walls as they walk past dry waterfalls and fountains void of water. Deeper into the dune. 

 

“Today's lesson.”, Jongdae says as the only warning she will get before he draws the dagger from underneath the sash, whirling around and aiming for her throat with a slash of silver through the dimly lit room. Jisoo yelps loudly, tumbling back and ripping up an arm to defend herself, his blade scratching noisily over the leather protector she wears on her wrist and forearm. She’s better with the bow than she is with the knife and Jongdae knows this. It bothers him.   
“Never disobey or question your master.”, he hisses as he pushes into her personal space, another strike of his blade upwards, too fast for her to block this time. The silver cuts through the skin on her upper arm, only hinting at the injury he could have dealt, blood instantly dirtying her white tunic.   
He hears her scream in shock at the sight of her own blood, eyes wide and panicked as she searches for his gaze, but he keeps pursuing her, slowly pushing her into the tightly drawn circle in the middle of the private training room. The room itself is a circle, one the sanctuaries towers before the desert claimed the temple as its own hundreds of years ago. It’s nothing more than a cave by now, the floor scratched and marked with the lessons of countless apprentices before Jisoo herself. She steps easily into the formations, falling into the motions of her legs that has them spiraling around each other, her eyes closing for a moment before they open once more, determination now shining in them. Good, Jongdae thinks with a wicked grin, twirling the blade in his hand, letting it dance between his fingers as he slowly rounds her - one step for each of her own. She’s defending herself, not attacking and he thinks for a moment that this lesson is useless, if he can’t make a point.   
“I was not-”

“Silence!”, he snaps at her, voice like a whip in the echoing room and she winces, misses the lunge in her direction. His blade catches at the front of her tunic, ripping it open and painting a beautiful crimson contrast across the top swell of her breasts and she gasps, hands reaching for his arm to twist the dagger out of his hold. It’s a reflex, a movement he has taught her years ago and he spins her around, knife at the edge of her throat, lips hovering against her ear as he breathes: “One day you will face me, if you don’t push yourself harder, Jisoo. And I won’t have mercy on you. You will either defeat me, or get killed by this very blade. Do you really think, you can surpass me by skipping out of your lessons? Do you think you are better than the others?”  
She is breathing hard in his hold, lax like a puppet and Jongdae suspects for a moment that she is waiting for him to slit her throat, deem her unworthy of his efforts of raising her into a dignified candidate for the godhood that lives inside of him for years now. When he was her age, his eyes had already lost color, slowly replaced by the never ending black that fills them now.   
She’s too slow, thinks of herself too highly.   
“No, master.”, she whispers back, hands reaching up to curl into his forearm, pressing the knife deeper into her throat and Jongdae twitches, the tip of his dagger gracing skin. She doesn’t make a sound, her breathing going harder with each passing minute.   
“I was not skipping lessons while you were away. Only today.”, she confesses and Jongdae growls, pushes her away from himself and she stumbles, slips on the dusty floor before whipping around and facing him, cheeks flushed and neck bloody. “I was waiting for you to come back.”  
He understands, suddenly. Arm sinking and dagger loose in his hold, Jongdae regards her with a grimace, lip pulled back in a voiceless, soundless snarl.   
“I will not teach you this today, Jisoo. Those lessons are for the cleanse after the moon rises to full power. You know that.”, he tells her, steel in his voice and he feels as if he is a reversed image of his mistress, brushing him off after he advanced her on the very same matter. But with such different ways of trying.   
Jisoo meets his eyes in defiance and Jongdae does snarl this time, pushing the dagger into the sash and striding up to her so fast, she lifts her arms in defence already, awaiting a punch.   
He has punched her various times, he remembers even as he grasps her throat with one hand and pulls her in, pressing a searing kiss onto her mouth that must hurt her. He can taste the copper on her lips. She doesn’t move, doesn’t even breathe and when he parts from her, she steps away. There is fear on her face and it’s exactly what is supposed to be on her features. Fear, not trust or admiration. Jongdae is her master, the one to kill her or raise her up.

No lover and no friend. Certainly no lover. 

“Go wash yourself. I expect you to seek out a healer to look at the cuts on your body. Tomorrow at dawn, we will meditate and you will go into training with the others without the morning meal.”  
“Is that my punishment?”, Jisoo asks softly and Jongdae shoots her an angry look.   
“No.”, he says, turning away and starting towards the entrance of the training room. “Your punishment is to stay here and rehearse the lessons I have taught you for the past two moons. After you’re done, return to your own quarters. Mine will be occupied tonight.”  
He can sense that she is about to ask him by who - who is he planning on taking to his rooms, who is he bedding tonight. But she doesn’t and Jongdae won’t tell her he is bedding no one tonight.   
There are more important matters to be taken care of than his bodily needs. And the disgust that still crawls underneath his skin from Zhoumi’s touches will need days to heal.   
“Have you understood?”, he half-shouts while turning to glare at her and she nods, presses her lips together before her tongue wets over them. “Yes, master.”  
“Good.”, he hisses and leaves her. 

 

Jisoo might have been a little too old to be an apprentice when he took her in, Jongdae reprimands himself while brushing into the main hall, the beads of the curtains clicking loudly as they falls shut behind him. She was and will always be good at surviving, but something about her called out to Jongdae when he found her in the streets, trying to steal from his very own pocket.   
He started training when he was old enough to walk on his own, long before he was able to think on his own. Now, so many years later, he feels as if he should have left her in the city.   
She’s a good student, devoted to him as her master but in the wrong way. Fear is the teacher, the master. He is only the vessel. But is he really only a vessel, a voice in the back of his head asks him and he stomps down on it, crushing it with a scoff.   
“You look ruffled, my friend.”, Seungwan drawls from her spot on the floor, leisurely draped across a stack of furs and pillows and Jongdae sinks easily into her outstretched arm, settling by her side and half on top of her. She smells like chamomile and the cuts around her throat are still healing. She is nearly as pale as Yixing, who sits by one of the long tables, smearing ink across a piece of parchment with one of those long brushes he loves so much and Jongdae hates.   
“This apprentice of yours.”, Sooyoung says from the other side of the golden plates between her and Seungwan, popping a honey date into her mouth while she fixes her eyes onto Jongdae, the gold around her eyelashes crinkled with the heat of the day. “You should get rid of her. She will cause you more trouble than she is worth. A good candidate, yes. But troublesome.”  
“You might have been the same, Sooyoung.”, Yixing pipes up and lets the scroll roll itself shut as he takes off the weights he placed on the edges. The ink will be smeared.   
“At least I never disobeyed my master.”, she quips and turns her head up, looking away.   
Jongdae rolls his eyes at her. “No. You only killed him in his sleep. What an honorable way to ascend, dear Sooyoung.”  
“There is hardly any honor with us.”, Seungwan laughs into his ear and Jongdae wishes for a moment he wouldn’t still feel Zhoumi’s hands all over himself. He would take her to his room that night, if only it weren’t for her wounds and his crawling heart.   
“I wasn’t killed by my student.”, Hangeng says from where he is sitting close to Yixing, looking out into the settling night with his legs folded and palms resting on his knees. “If you have fear for your life, the godhood might not be strong enough inside of you yet.”  
“I am not afraid to be killed by my student.”, Jongdae clarifies and settles a little deeper into Seungwans touch. “I am afraid she will be too cocky for her own good. She is old enough to be sent onto an errand. I do not desire to lose my apprentice before her time has come.”  
“That is wise.”, Yixing chuckles and his black eyes flicker over towards Jongdae, the smile on his lips taunting in too many ways. “Surprisingly.”  
Jongdae simpers back and then falls silent, Seungwans long thin fingers brushing through his hair and over his forehead, smearing gold paint across his skin.   
The lull that overcomes him with those gentle touches is almost frightening, his senses too sensitive after only just returning. He feels raw, frayed around the edges like old fabric.   
“Jongin.”, Yixing suddenly says a little too softly and Jongdae opens his eyes. It’s been minutes since he closed them and yet the room is almost entirely dark, only the glow of the night illuminating them all. Shadows, where they are sitting. “He brought me word of a man that brings forth blasphemy.”

“What kind of blasphemy?”, Hangeng asks as he gets up from his spot by the terrace, walking slowly back towards them. His steps sway slightly, or maybe it’s Jongdae’s vision that is swaying. He feels exhausted.   
“He brings attention to our doing in the world.”, the other man continues and Jongdae lets his eyes fall back shut as Seungwan traces the gold down his face, over the curve of his lips. She’s not looking at him, moving absentmindedly. “He speaks ill of the dead gods. Of our influence. He is drawing too much attention to our cause. To us.”  
“You are afraid people will grow weary of us.”, Hangeng states as he settles atop a chair, filling a goblet with wine for himself. There are still little flowers swimming in the liquid, not yet dissolved. A fresh batch then, Jongdae thinks and wonders how much wine his brothers and sisters have consumed that day, to be in need of a fresh lilac batch. “That they will not trust people who aren’t familiar to them.”  
“Yes.”, Yixing nods, leaning back on his pillow with his head tipped back into his nape, black eyes on the ceiling above them. The wind coming from the terrace ruffles his hair and Jongdae doesn’t even have to ask anymore, what Jongin finds in him. He is ethereal, if only he doesn’t speak or smile.   
“There are reports of adepts failing in their missions because the folk is suspicious.”  
“Then he needs to die.”, Hangeng decides and he doesn’t have to call in for a voting, already knowing by the answering silence, that all his brethren agree with his choice. “As soon as possible.”  
Quietly, Sooyoung shifts where she sits. “If he is speaking of us, then the children of the light will be close to him. They will be near him to keep us away.”  
“We will deal with them too, then.”, Hangeng smiles down at her and she grins up at him, teeth showing. They are pointier than Jongdae ever saw them before.   
They all grow into creatures of the night. By every second that passes, they become one with the darkness inside of them. More and more. And Jongdae doesn’t know if he dreads the day Jisoo ascends to his status and calls for a duel. Because he knows he will kill her. 

 

Jongdae wakes up to a stiff neck and a pounding pain in the left side of his head. He shouldn’t have let Yixing rope him into drinking until the moon was high in the sky last night, he groans to himself while rolling onto his side, throwing an arm across his face before he stiffens and lifts his head, peeking out from underneath his arm. Jisoo is sitting on her pillow, rigid and silent, eyes trained on the far wall of his room so she doesn’t have to look at him directly. He would have startled at her presence, had it been new to him. She has done this earlier in her studies, most of the time after he scolded or punished her and after what happened the day before, he was half expecting her to show up in his room in the morning. But not while he was still asleep.   
“Master.”, she greets him when he sighs and pulls himself up, swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress and stretching as he gets up, naked. He can feel her eyes on him while he crosses the room, reaching for a long robe that is tied shut at the front with a simple belt and he bends down to splash water into his face before he finally turns to her, dabbing away droplets from his eyes with his sleeve.   
“You’re early.”, he tells her and she ducks her head, gnawing at her bottom lip.   
“I attended morning service and I wanted to make up for the lesson I missed yesterday.”  
“False abjection will not ease anger.”, Jongdae replies and Jisoo shoots him a nervous look. He meets her eyes with a stare, void of any emotion and she quickly looks away, her eyes traveling down the length of his body before settling somewhere around his feet.   
“We will attend mid-day service too, today.”, he says easily as he turns around and pushes a dollop of mint paste into his mouth, chewing it slowly before taking a sip of water and spitting it out into the waste bowl, grimacing at the grainy texture of the paste on his tongue.   
“Yes, master.”  
He leaves his quarters with Jisoo by his side, still wearing the robe and nothing underneath, knowing that he will have to change into his ceremonial armor in only a few hours and the hassle of dressing himself properly seems as if wasting time. Time is all he has though, he knows. There is nothing but time out here, in the desert and the temple and the children of the dark. The dead gods gave them this as their only gift.  
Jisoo doesn’t even hesitate to follow him when he squeezes himself out into the open through a gap between two walls, a narrow staircase waiting for them on the other side and the sand is slightly damp from the night, the air still cool even though the sun is already bright in the sky. The storm is long gone, the blue of the sky above them nearly blinding and Jongdae scrunches up his nose in distaste of the light, holding up one hand to shield his eyes from the glaring light. Jisoo’s steps are soft across the sand next to him, her feet as bare as his own and when she pulls off her robe, her legs are bare underneath, the tunic she is wearing barely coming down to her knees.

“Sit.”, he orders her resolutely, pointing at an even spot on the sand atop of the temple, the hint of pillars peeking out from underneath the beige and white. She settles instantly, on her knees and calves, hands folded in her lap like she would sit on the pillow in his room and Jongdae rounds her slowly, correcting her posture with solid touches, unyielding even when her face twists into an unpleasant expression when he straightens her shoulders, the position without doubt pulling at the wound in her chest. There is no regret left inside of him for hurting her. The cut will smooth over with time and every scar on their skin is only a testimony of devotion.   
“What did they say in the morning service?”, he inquires her, still drawing circles around her with lazy steps. “Did they speak of the threat that is imposing on us?”  
“No threat.”, Jisoo shakes her head, immediately still when he clicks his tongue at her movement. “A challenge, they said. A challenge sent to us by the dead gods. Some even say this might be the beginning of our holy war against the children of the light. They call themselves the sons of the sun now.”  
“Sons of the sun.”, Jongdae repeats slowly, spitting the words out into the sand as if they are bile on his tongue. “They always have those ridiculous names to call themselves. Have you studied, Jisoo? Do you know why the world needs us and them and there will never be a war?”  
“But master-”, she starts, her eyes opening and instantly closing again when he glances down at her with hard, angry eyes. Her tongue brushes over her lips, her words hushed as she whispers:   
“It is the game of the gods.”, she recites the texts he had given her before he left for his mission on Zhoumi’s life. “A race towards immortality. They believe the blood of gods flows in their veins.”  
“There is no such thing as the blood of the gods.”, Jongdae tells her, finally stopping his circling and standing in front of her, rolling his neck to work out a kink that has settled at the base of his skull.   
“In each human is the seed of immortality. Why are you fit for this ascend, child?”  
It’s a question he asks her each and every day. In the beginning her answer had wavered under his questions, under his pressing. Until he had broken her into what she is now.   
“With the knowledge of the sacred path of the dead gods, so comes my immortality. I will ascend as my master sees fit.”, she replies easily, the words rolling smoothly off her tongue. It’s not a sentence that can be practiced. Every student has their own answer and Jongdae still remembers his.   
“You will become one of the dead ones, as I see fit. Yes.”, he nods and brushes a hand across her head. She preens under the wordless praise, sitting up even straighter, eyes still closed. But her lips are stretching into a smile and Jongdae feels as if he wants to slap it off her face. There is no need to smile. The path that leads them towards the godhood is not one that should be smiled upon. 

In the end, the children of light do have the same motives. He remembers, will always remember.   
How the man bleeding out in the sand had gasped up at him, unafraid to meet death. But every human should be humble when facing their end and Jongdae feels his lips curl in disgust at the memory. At the knowledge that the sons of the sun deem themselves higher than the rest of them. No path is the right one, his mistress once told him while breaking him open on the sand like one would break an egg, poking around his insides until he didn’t know who he was anymore. The only truth should be, she told him with a voice too gentle for the blood on her lips. That no human is a god unless he is lifted by the gods themselves.   
If it has a soul, it is mortal. Each life his knife takes, will take away a piece of his soul with it. This is what makes them immortal, no god and no human.   
Jisoo is saying just that, her voice steady while she speaks and Jongdae settles on the slowly warming sand. The touch of his fingers against the grains will always remind him of that night he killed his mistress. Her life so warm and yet so cold in his arms as they knelt in the sand. 

 

“If you are ready”, Hangeng says by his side, bowing his head as low as he can without bowing to the stone figure in front of them, the priest chanting loudly. “You will be send to kill the heretic.”  
Jongdae can barely breathe through the smoke of ginseng and myrrh. “Yes.”  
“I expected nothing less.”, the other man replies and turns to leave, leaning heavily onto the shoulder of his former student, who leads him out of the sanctual. They brush through the masses of apprentices and adepts, leaving behind a trail of empty space in their wake and Jongdae’s eyes follow them until they are out of sight.   
If he is the one chosen to make the kill, there must be more to it than a simple heretic spitting poison in the streets of the cities. If it were that, they would send a student to cut a throat. Or Yixing, to spin an intrigue that would bring down a kingdom like he has done before. If the blind prophet has chosen Jongdae, then it is not a simple task. Or perhaps it’s simply the last life he needs to take to complete his ascend. He doesn’t know and he doesn’t question the blind prophets judgement. He was never wrong before, after all.   
“You will leave me again, master.”, Jisoo breathes out by his side and Jongdae moves with a breath, rolling his shoulder and turning his head. The spices in the smoke are making his skin tight and his blood run hotter in his veins. “Who will take over my training, if you might not return?”

“What makes you think, I will not return?”, he asks her right back, anger lacing his words and she meets his eyes without wavering, a burn in them that rivals the one in his own.   
“One day, master, the blind prophet will be wrong. And if they send an adept of your rank and skill to kill a simple heretic, the sons of the sun might be involved. They hunt us.”  
For every hunter, there is a prey and Jongdae knows that while they are his, he is theirs all the same.   
It is the endless circle of the game they are playing. Immortality taken by those, who think of themselves higher than the rest, not willing to allow it to anybody else than them.   
“I have killed them when I was even younger than you are now.”, he answers her simply and Jisoo swallows, reaches out a hand to curl her fingers around his wrist. “Master.”  
Her touch is cold and slightly clammy but the crawling of his skin has stopped and Jongdae allows himself this tiny moment of being weak as he leans closer to her and whispers: “After the night meal, go and seek out a mistress. Let them prepare you for the moon ritual. If I do not return in one weeks time, I will have them rise you to the rank of a young adept under Yixings training.”  
Her breath falters, stutters around her lips that shape open and then close again, her gaze seeking his. But he won’t meet her eyes, simply turns away and leaves her in the masses of praying students and masters alike, all of them the same in front of the dead god that is guarding their temple.   
There are so many others, buried in the sand.   
Time, Jongdae thinks as he brushes past Yixing, who throws him a quizzical look, hand resting heavily on Jongin’s shoulder, who twists in his chair as if he can see Jongdae passing them in the distance, his lips moving with words that are so quiet, only the man by his side can pick them up.   
It’s always like this. Yixing, the messenger for those words, that are spoken in the silence of Jongin’s mind and the all-seeing white of his eyes.   
Time is the only thing the dead gods have given them. It is their own duty to shape this time to something greater than just a human life. Jongdae ascends with this. 

 

The nights in the desert are cold, the wind breezing through the hallways and quarters only hinting at the heat of the day and Jongdae breathes in deeply as he emerges from the masters training rooms, hair sticking to his forehead and skin shining with sweat. His heart is beating erratically in his chest, pumping blood through his veins so quickly, he is growing dizzy with it. But his breath is steady and calm, his muscles tight from the exercise and he can still feel the sting of naked blade he used today.   
It’s too heavy for his fighting style, the hilt not shaped for the way his fingers are used to gripping a knife and yet the slower way his body has to move with this kind of weapon is sending just the right pulse through his body. He needs this today, he thinks as he runs a hand through his sweaty hair and down over his neck, smearing the moisture into his skin and leaving behind a cold tingle where his fingers touch down the lines of his shoulders, over the dip of his collarbones, marked with scars from old punishments and new fights.   
His body is nothing like the soft boy he used to be, steel hard like the blades he uses to cut down his enemies. And Jongdae revels in it is as he lets his hand wander lower across his pectorals, the taut line between his moving abdominal muscles. His fingers come up wet with his sweat and he grimaces at them even while he pushes into his own chambers, the air humid and cold against his naked torso.   
It’s dark inside his chambers, still. But Jisoo is sitting on her pillow, looking out into the pale blue of the desert night, her hair braided across the back of her head and falling down her naked back. She’s wearing one of the long flowing dresses the mistresses like to clothe themselves in while at the temple, the white fabric draping delicately down her waist from the dip of her ribs and over her thighs, strong from his training. She looks up at him when the beads of the curtain veiling the entrance to his rooms clatter shut, her eyes flickering over his form for just a moment of hesitation before she rises from the pillow and steps closer.   
“Let me attend to you tonight, master.”, she says and her voice is a little too gentle for Jongdaes liking. She’s too soft around the edges, so pliable when he reaches out and runs a thumb over the swell of her bottom lip, smearing red paint and golden liner that runs down the center of her mouth.   
Her lips fall open at his touch and he follows the movement of her breath that raises her chest, one eyebrow arching.   
“You can.”, he replies then, after this beat of silence between them and Jisoo rounds him to grab the silver bowl of water and a cloth ready next to it, prepared for him so he could clean himself after returning from his training. The endless circle of students should cause chaos in their rows and yet the temple still works like a perfectly constructed machinery. It amazed him, time and time again.   
The water in the bowl has long grown cold and so is the cloth when it hits the back of his neck the first time, wiping carefully over the knobs of his spine and then down between his shoulders. She cleans him from the upper back downwards and he stands still, only moving when she turns him around so run the wet cloth over his face, washing away the last traces of the golden paint and the khol he wears around his eyes. She moves slow, with care and reverence and Jongdae desperately wants to break her for it. Fear and never devotion, his mistress's voice rings through his mind and he grabs Jisoo’s wrist then, pulling the cloth away so he can push her from himself, taking the cloth out of her hand before he bends down to pour the remaining water over his head. She watches, silently, bottom lip between her teeth until he straightens and before she can step back into his personal space, he lifts a hand at her, stopping her movement. 

“Some of the men you will be asked to attend and infiltrate, will not be gentle with you.”, he says while untying the strings of his pants and letting them fall down his thighs until they pool around his ankles. He steps out of them easily, unashamed of his naked body and it’s not like she hasn’t seen it before anyway. Her eyes remain on his though, not once leaving his face even while he steps closer to her once more, her breath fanning out across his face.   
“They will be rough with you.”, he tells her while reaching for the silver brooch fastening her dress around her neck and pulls it away. “They will hurt you. For their own pleasure.”  
“Are you going to hurt me?”, she asks him while the dress runs down her body like water. The cut on her chest is still fresh and pink, only crusted over with dried blood and Jongdae is sure that it would break open once more, if only he would press his finger into it hard enough.   
“Yes.”, he answers with a nod and Jisoo holds her breath, her chest rising and stuttering with it. “You are too devoted to me, my student. I am not your lover. I share my bed with you because it’s a necessity. Part of your training. I have been gentle with you to show you the pleasure of it, yes. It is my duty to show you the shadows of it too, though.”  
“Then do it.”, she replies to his words, lowering her head and he tugs on a lock of her hair, running his hand into her hair to pull her head back into her neck. “Show me the shadows.”  
He narrows his eyes at her then, hand firm in her hair while the other comes up to cup one of her breasts, too hard to be anywhere close to pleasure, but her eyes flutter shut nevertheless. She breathes slowly, even while he pushes her back towards his bed, guiding her by the throat and braid that holds the upper part of her hair securely away from her face.   
He doesn’t hit her, no matter how hard a part of him wants to, only pushing her back onto the bed and turning her around so she has to brace her weight on her hands while he stands behind her.   
She is silent even when he pushes into her and for a moment he thinks perhaps he should have beat her before taking her - her body still all too ready to welcome him, her voice sighing out a silent moan at his touch. She flutters like a little bird in his palm, Jongdae thinks. He could crush her, if he wanted to. Curl his fingers around her throat and press it shut until there is no breath left in her lungs anymore. He manhandles her in every way he thinks possible without breaking her mind too much, his hands rough and not once meeting her lips in a kiss, no matter how much she begs him to kiss her. Because this is a lesson and should not be pleasure.   
“Master.”, she calls out to him after he rises from the bed, spent and sweaty once more. “Can-”  
“I will leave in the morning.”, he cuts her off hoarsely. “There is no need for you to stay tonight. Yixing will oversee your training while I am gone.”


	3. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright chapter two (three hah) one day later than I thought I would be able to post! I am currently a little swamped with rl activities and work 
> 
> AGAIN I just want to warn people that this is NOT a happy story.  
> There will be SEVERAL people dying "on screen" and "off screen" as my beta put it lmao  
> And perhaps I will actually have time to work on the playlist I listened to while writing all of this!  
> I might be posting a link to it on the next chapter.... maybe... if I am not too lazy to edit it. 
> 
> Leave some comments and/or kudos while you're at it, my cat is happy for the treats!

As close to a home the temple is for Jongdae, he does not miss it as he brushes into the crowd on the city market, bodies pushing into his left and right and from behind. He vanishes into them, faceless and mindless. No gold on his face but khol lining his eyes and he hears some of them whisper behind their hands as he passes them, their eyes traveling over his black hood and robes. The crimson sash around his middle is tight, the dagger’s tip pressing into his belly and Jongdae catches himself settling a hand on the hilt through the gaps of the fabric, touching the familiar steel. It should be easy to find a heretic in the streets of the town and yet he does not hear or see any of the talk Yixing spoke of. The safehouse is close to the center of the city, locked just as the master before him must have left it and the inside is crusted and coated in dust. A heavy layer of it, woven with spider webs and the tiny footprints of rats and mice. The house is empty and cold, just the shell of what it should be and Jongdae thinks it’s all too easy to imagine a man living here, who goes untouched by blood, who sleeps without a knife hidden under his pillow. The chest with merchant clothing is half empty, the weapons hidden under the double floor of the wooden box filled and tended to. 

At least he won’t have to go with nothing but the dagger and sword he brought, Jongdae thinks while he shrugs out of his robes and dresses himself in the simple, yet fine clothing that would blend him into the crowd seamlessly. The white fabric is too pale against his skin, making the golden tan that is still left on his body stand out stark and bronze and Jongdae frowns. The shadows veiling his eyes hurt. If only they would look into his eyes, they would see what he truly is. Descendant of the dead gods, a murderer. With a curl of his lips, Jongdae pulls the hood back up over his hair, now white against black and throwing a light shadow across his face that masks the unnatural blackness of his eyes far better than the black attire he arrived in. The purse with golden coins on his belt is a reassuring weight almost as much as the dagger is, his leather boots throwing up dust as he walks, brushing through the coating as the only evidence he has been here. The city is as familiar to him as the temple is, but he feels like a foreign object in the stream of people - like a splinter of wood stuck in the flesh. He’s more than a splinter. He’s a needle piercing into lungs with nothing more than a glance, nothing more than a simple touch. And so he vanishes, a faceless murderer amongst the sheep that are his prey. In the middle of those people, bargaining for the price of apples and furs, he is an immortal. A god of death. And Jongdae revels in it. He surpassed them all. Dust under his feet.  
  
  
He hears him before he sees.

It’s been days in the city without a single sign of the heretic he was sent to kill and for a few hours of wandering the city, Jongdae almost suspects the man to have fled the town, knowing that the dead gods will come after him, after his head and blood to further cement their power. The grip they have on this country is strong but still wavering and Jongdae knows that men like this preacher, will only end up undermining their efforts. He has to die and if Jongdae has to chase him across the land to bring his head home to the blind prophet, he will.  
  
He doesn’t have to.  
  
His voice is loud across the tea market, the air heavy and pregnant with tension and the scent of spices and tea. Jongdae is leaning over a stall of different herbs, the display colorful and rich, when he first hears it. An uproar from the far corner, the edge of a fountain, gurgling with clear water.  
“They walk among you!”, the loudest voice of them all shouts across the ruckus and Jongdae lifts his head, straightens his shoulders. “I! Have stood before the gates of death and see, I have returned with the mission to bring you the news of this vile, rotten desire that fouls our waters and haunts the houses as we sleep!”  
Jongdae steps away from the stall then, away from the soothing shade of the linen sheets spanned across the display and out into the middle of the street, back into the unforgiving light of the sun.  
“I have seen the horrors they bring, those men and woman who walk in the darkness and worship blood and destruction! Hear my words!”  
The crowd thickens as he walks further towards the fountain, feet heavy and yet his body brushes easily past bystanders, into the knot of people that has formed in front of the water.  
A man stands there, dressed in simple clothing but the way he holds his head and shoulders speak of royalty or an educated upbringing. A scholar, judging from the riches hanging around his neck and glinting off his fingers.  
  
A preacher, a priest. The heretic.  
  
“And hear!”, he continues, swiping an arm across the sea of faces that has gathered by his feet. “They are seeking to destroy the peace we have worked so hard to contain! Just the last moon, they have killed our beloved Zhoumi, he who has traveled far to feed the starving people of our cities! And the goddess queen and all the paladins of our church weep at the loss!”

Jongdae wants to scoff at that, the memory of Zhoumi having bile rise in the back of his throat and he is close to spitting out when the man continues his speech after a long, heavy pause.  
“They justify their actions by nothing but the call for blood! Dear people of this country hear my words! I beg of you to put an end to this madness and cleanse these streets! Purge the desert and the cities from the curse those people have brought upon you! Death! Nothing but-”  
He stops, suddenly, as a hand settles on his arm and another man leans into him from behind, whispering into his ear. Jongdae watches, eyes narrowing as he sees the flash of indigo directed his way. It’s just a flicker of gold and blue and yet it’s enough to make Jongdae’s skin prick. The ancient conflict is boiling in his blood and his fingers twitch to his knife, before the heretic starts screaming in reckless abandon, voice snapping with his yells.  
“See! Just among you! Your reputation precedes you, assassin! Seize him!”  
Before Jongdae can react, there are hands pulling against his arms, holding him still as the crowd parts like a river against a stone around him, his eyes meeting the frantic ones of the preacher, who stands atop the fountain, breathing heavily. And yet, even when there is a sword pressed into his back and there are two men holding his arms, he stands still. The smile on his lips is barely there, nearly invisible and yet the son of the sun, who is standing just behind the heretic, moves. Uneasy.  
“Assassin.”, the preacher says and steps off the edge of the water, walking closer with slow, even steps. “We knew you would join us, if only the call for justice becomes loud enough.”  
“Justice.”, Jongdae repeats, voice pleasant and easy. “There is no justice in your blasphemy. And everybody who listens to your words should know you are a liar. And a fool.”  
The man laughs, stopping just two steps away from where Jongdae is held, hands folded in front of his lap. “A fool? Aren’t you the fool to come out here and try to kill me? We are pleased by the success of luring one of your kind out of the dark. It means you are afraid.”  
It’s Jongdae who laughs, this time. “It is you, who should be afraid. And you are. You are sweating through your robes already, dear preacher. You should let sleeping lions lie.”  
The people surrounding them move too, stepping further back with each word that falls from Jongdae’s lips and he knows that for a man who is held by two heavily armored guards, he is entirely too calm. He just has to kill this man and  
his mission will be over. The two sons of the sun, who are standing just off by the side of the fountain, hands on their weapons, are only a bonus. A step towards godhood and he embraces it.  
“Your head will be a wonderful display of warning atop the city gates.”, the man in front of him whispers, a smile on his lips that is just a little too pleasant. “Kill him.”  
Jongdae moves before the guards can, He twists out of the long coat he is wearing, the fabric ripping along the seams as he slips out of it towards the front, seams bursting open easily around his naked arms. He turns on his heel, one hand reaching up for the left guards head while the other is aiming for his throat, pulling the man down into the punch before his knuckles make contact with his windpipe, crushing it with little to no effort. The man’s sword is heavy in his hand as he catches it before the guard can drop it, twirling it in his hold so the blade is lined with his forearm, the hilt punching hard into the second guard’s eye, before Jongdae lunges and slices the sword easily across his throat, drawing blood in a shower of red that coats the length of his arm. Only then does he hear the screams of the crowd, the chaos that breaks out around him and for a moment he feels tempted to throw himself into the throng of fleeing people and run. But he pivots easily, already expecting the two sons of the sun to be at him like hawks. The only thing he sees is one of them, running towards the heretic, who stands frozen in his spot.  
Jongdae smiles. It’s wicked, the stretch of his lips while he lifts the sword and throws it, the blade piercing through the preacher’s chest.

“Teuk!”

The shout is loud, panicked and Jongdae watches with a spark of interest, as the son of the sun catches the falling man against his chest, cradling him against his body, face twisted in sorrow.  
“Assassin.”, he growls then, Jongdae’s steps easy across the bloody cobblestone towards him. “You-”  
“You should not have brought him out into the light, if you wanted him to live through this.”, Jongdae interrupts him, drawing his dagger to lift it, ready to strike the other down.  
“You knew we were coming.”  
“We have been expecting you, yes.”, the kneeling son of the sun whispers, the grip on his own weapon too weak to block Jongdae’s blow, if he decides to cut him. “But…”  
“If he was one of you, then his soul will become a god.”, Jongdae says silently. “Is that not, what you believe?”  
“We do.”, the other tells him with a nod and his eyes are burning when he meets Jongdae’s gaze. Indigo like the eyes of the boy in the desert. But so different. Flecked with gold and silver. “What do you believe in, assassin?”  
“Balance.”  
He brings his dagger down in a clean swipe, but his knife never hits the target. Instead it is blocked by a golden vambrace, vibrating with the shock of the blow and Jongdae halts, blinking.  
It’s the second son of the sun, kneeling before him on one leg, arm raised to catch his strike and Jongdae is about to jump back - expecting a hit to his middle - when he sees the other unarmed. There is no weapon in his hand, not even a small knife. He just kneels there, staring up at Jongdae with something that is horror and awe all the same.  
  
Jongdae knows those eyes.  
'Their shape, the droop of the lids, the color of his eyelashes and indigo iris.  
“Baekhyun, kill him!”, the man holding the preacher yells and the other soldier snaps his head up, ripping his eyes away from Jongdae’s. But his hand is hesitant as he reaches for the sword by his hip, too slow to stop Jongdae from snapping forward and punching him in the face. Something sings inside of his chest, like a golden disk and the sound is high and unpleasant and Jongdae hisses, kicks at the sword in the man’s hand just as he is about to lift it despite the crimson shooting from his nose. It drips down over the gentle slope of his lips, over his chin and onto the golden collar that is around his neck, gleaming with sapphires. Jongdae feels transfixed for a moment of stunned silence, his hand hovering for another punch and then, as the man’s fingers curl around the sword that fell under Jongdae’s kick, he does what he never did before. He turns - and runs.  
  
  
  
His nose is broken.  
  
Baekhyun hisses at the touch of his own fingers, the bone crunching loudly under his skin and he winces, wipes away the blood clinging to his mouth, chin and neck as best as he can. It smears across his vambrace, down the length of his forearm and he frowns down on it while Heechul behind him is talking frantically. Teuk’s own words are muffled as he answers, blotched with pain and Baekhyun dreads turning around to face the other two soldiers.  
“I’ll live.”, Teuk tells Heechul with a stern voice, even though there is reddish foam bubbling over his lips, when Baekhyun does turn around. “If you get me to the healers fast enough.”  
Heechul nods, as if he is the one who took a punch in the face and Baekhyun fingers at his broken nose again. It’s not a bad fracture, a clean snap across the ridge of his nose. Such a precise punch.  
Aimed not to disfigure him, only to distract him. He could be dead - probably should be dead. Facing an assassin without a weapon in hand.  
“Baekhyun!”, Heechul’s angry voice rips him out of his thoughts and he startles, looking up from the blood on his fingers. He hadn’t even noticed he’s staring down at it. “If you’re not chasing after that damn murderer, how about you _help_ me?!”  
“Wha-”, he starts, then cuts himself off with a violent shake of his head. “Yes. Yes, of course.”  
He bends down despite the throbbing in his face and helps the other man to lift Teuk up from the ground, the guards sword still sticking oddly out of his chest. It punctured his lung, Baekhyun thinks with a grimace as he hears the rattling breath Teuk is trying to suck into his mouth, more foam following the air and he chokes around a cough, nearly going limp in Heechul’s hold before Baekhyun wraps a hand around his upper arm to hold him steady.  
They barely make it into the shadow of a house before the oldest of them collapses again, leaning heavily into Heechul’s side, trembling like a leaf in a stormy night. Baekhyun bites his bottom lip. He’s losing so much blood, filling his own lungs with liquid with each breath he takes and there is nothing they can do about it. They have to hurry.  
But the healer’s halls are up across the market district and the assassin could still be hiding in the shadows, making sure his target is dead, before he leaves the city again. Hopefully for good, Baekhyun thinks and knows his own mind is lying to him. They will never leave, always returning for more blood. And with every adept comes an apprentice too. It’s as if they are fighting a mythical beast, cutting off heads only to watch two grow back instead of one.  
“Get yourself together!”, Heechul snaps suddenly and Baekhyun grips Teuk a little tighter, dragging him along and down the road, leaving a trail of little bloody raindrops in their wake.  
Time is slipping through their fingers with each step they take and by the time they have crossed the market district halfway, Teuk is deadweight in their arms. His breaths are shallow, the sword in his chest slipping and ripping the wound bigger and bigger.  
  
“We’re losing him.”, Baekhyun whispers, stepping back in shock when Heechul screams: “Keep your mouth shut and keep walking! He’s not dead yet! You might have abandoned your master, but I will not!”  
It stings - those words hurt like the blow to his face and Baekhyun nearly drops Teuk’s arm in shock at how much it pricks his soul. He knows Heechul doesn’t think of him highly, but having it slapped into his face like this, is something entirely different. A part of him wants to drop Teuk into Heechul’s hold and turn around to leave them, but the honor burning inside of him won’t let him.  
He has a duty to fulfill as a member of the sons of the sun. And that duty is to try and save his comrades lives.  
“This way.”, the younger silently says instead, pushing them into a more narrow alleyway, knowing the way to be faster and less open - a little more protected against a sudden attack, if it comes.  
And yet while they’re walking, something strikes him as odd. The people fled the streets for a reason, panicked chicken at the sight of blood and the gruesome act of murder happening in front of their very eyes, word travelling faster than air in this city. They had a reason to run. The assassin didn’t. He was armed when Baekhyun was not, his sword on the floor and mind foggy with the pain of the punch to his face. It would have been easy to kill him right then and there. They never miss an opportunity to kill a member of their order, Baekhyun thinks and he still remembers all the novices coming back to the head temple without their teachers, or the other way around. The order of the sun falls prey to the swords of the assassins all too easily.  
“Please, Baekhyun.”, Heechul begs next to him when they cross another street and duck into yet another alley. “Concentrate. We can’t lose another warrior. They’ll outnumber us. At least try to help me, will you?”  
Baekhyun stays mum at that, only breathes in deeply and closes his eyes for a moment or two, letting himself be dragged along even while he is holding Teuk up as best as he can. The man’s feet are already painting ridges across the sandy ground where they are more carrying him than he is walking and Baekhyun knows that he is only minutes away from falling unconscious. And if he does, he won’t wake up anymore. Not even their healers can bring people back from the dead.  
“Only a little more.”, he says but he isn’t sure if he is telling that to Heechul or Teuk - or even himself.  
His tunic is sticking to his body with blood uncomfortably, his mind is swimming with too many thoughts and his arms are starting to burn with the weight added to them.  
“It was a stupid plan.”, Heechul suddenly whispers next to him while they push through a door and into a long tunnel, the only light guiding their way from the door behind them and the one ahead. “I knew they would come to kill him. I just- I never saw…”  
“They aren’t like us.”, Baekhyun tells him silently and breathes a relieved sigh when they finally - finally stumble into the circular hall of healing, surrounded by pillars so high, Baekhyun can barely make out their tips against the blinding light of the sky above.  
“By the healing mother, what happened?”, a frantic voice asks from somewhere behind all the light and Teuk is ripped away from his hold. Baekhyun could be sorry he is feeling so relieved by it, weren’t it for the pain in his face and the forming bruise under the vambrace from the assassin’s dagger.

“The butchers came for him because of his words in the streets.”, Heechul explains to some of the healers who have gathered around them, tugging on Teuk’s robes and ripping them open to inspect the sword plunged deeply into his ribcage. “He fled before we could slay him.”  
“That is unfortunate.”, head-healer Junmyeon clips and his face is as hard as the stone under Baekhyun’s feet as his eyes travel over the both of them and three others carry the wounded man away into the darkness of the hallways. He will be in the baths for days, Baekhyun knows.  
“Unfortunate.”, Heechul repeats and already opens his mouth again, to surely snap at the head-healer, but the man is already in front of Baekhyun, grasping his face between his hands, turning it this way and that way to inspect his nose. “My, my. You nose took a beating, didn’t it? We’re so lucky Heechul didn’t get injured too while fighting the assassin, aren’t we?”  
It’s a jab and they all know it. Heechul’s face turns sour, but he chooses to stay silent, his hands balling by his sides into fists that are white-knuckled.  
“Let’s patch you up, son.”, Junmyeon tells Baekhyun and there is no room for disagreement in the tone of his voice. He nods, following numbly when the other man takes him by the hand and leads him away, into the other direction from where they took Teuk.  
  
“Will he live?”, Baekhyun asks weakly as soon as they are out of the circular room and Junmyeon clicks his tongue at him, still not letting go of his hand. He’s not that much older than Baekhyun himself, but he grew up in the order, was born in these very halls they are walking right now. He breathed the teachings of the sons of the sun ever since he was old enough to listen to them.  
Yet, Baekhyun thinks to himself while Junmyeon heaves a sigh and his white-clad shoulders vibrate with it, he is so different. Different from Baekhyun, from Heechul. From all of those who are out there, fighting. It might be because of his milky eyes, or the softness of his touch. He could never fight and kill one of those sand demons that come with the desert storms and wear the skin of those they have killed in their sleep. Baekhyun has never seen them kill a man while he was sleeping.  
“That is for the golden mother to decide.”, Junmyeon eventually answers his question with that soft-lilting voice of his. “I doubt he will make it through the week. The wound he took is too deep. Had the sword not hit his spine, it might have gone all the way through.”  
“But the hilt-”  
“It cut through his sternum as if he was made of paper, Baekhyun.”, Junmyeon interrupts him softly and the hold on his hand tightens a little bit.  
“I’ve seen injuries like his. The things you are going up against are not to be taken lightly. But you already know that, don’t you?”  
The gaze of Junmyeon’s milky eyes is unsettling, most of the time. Right now though, in the dim light of a hallway so narrow, the walls are nearly brushing Baekhyun’s shoulders, it has a shiver racing down his spine.  
  
Those eyes see nothing.  
“They are nothing but blood thirsty killers.”, Baekhyun spits back, but the fire in his voice is not nearly as bright as some of the others. He knows that he is wavering and Junmyeon knows too.  
His belief is not nearly as strong as the faith of his fellow soldiers of the sun.  
“Yes.”, Junmyeon tells him with a little smile. “It’s just funny to me, how we still don’t know why they do, what they do. It would be fairly interesting to understand them, don’t you think? For the purpose of studying them, of course. Nothing more.”  
“Or course not.”, Baekhyun mutters under his breath and the other man’s fingers fall away from his own, leaving his palm oddly cold even in the humid, sweltering heat of the mid-day sun that burns through the roof of the healers hall.    
“Let’s take a look at your nose.”

Junmyeon points at a low stool in the middle of the small chamber Baekhyun follows him in to, the walls lined with shelves and tables, all of them overflowing with jars, long cylindrical glasses and scrolls of paper. It’s all in a disarray, chaotic and seemingly random, but Junmyeon finds his way through the mess with easy steps, Baekhyun’s eyes following him around the room. The healer works in silence, pushing a fingers against the side of Baekhyun’s nose until the bone gives and slides back into place, all the while humming under his breath even when Baekhyun starts hissing at him because the pain shooting up his nose is making him dizzy and his head hurt.  
"I could let you sleep in the bath for an hour.”, Junmyeon tells him after he applied a thick coat of a paste made of honey and wax, holding the broken bone in place. “The bone will fix itself quickly. But you should not walk around in the streets with this murderer on the loose while your nose looks like that. It’s an easy attack point.”  
“He could have easily shattered my entire face.”, Baekhyun suddenly speaks up loudly and Junmyeon halts, turning around to look at him with wide, light blue eyes. He blinks, slowly, sets down the flask with the remaining paste on the shelf next to him and then folds his hands in front of his stomach, fingers curling ever so slightly into the blue fabric of his tunic. “Yes?”  
“If he is able to throw a sword like this and have it stuck in Teuk’s spine, then his punch could have broken my entire face. Or am I wrong, Junmyeon?”  
The healer stays silent for a long moment, regarding him with a long, emotionless stare before he sighs deeply and pulls out another chair from underneath one of the tables, taking a seat with one ankle crossed over the other. He looks like a patient teacher, talking to a petulant child as he gestures for Baekhyun to continue with a lazy wave of his hand. “Go on.”  
Baekhyun’s hands flutter uselessly, his eyes stray away from the healer’s gaze, over the shelves and parchment scrolls pinned to the walls. To the butterflies strung up on a reet lanyard.  
“I’ve seen it. Him.”, he confesses them into the silence between them, the butterflies shifting on the cord and fluttering in the breeze of his breath. Or the breeze of the memory that comes with the cold of sand at night. “I- have seen him punch a man’s face in with his bare fists.”  
“They certainly should be able to do that, yes. Perhaps it is part of their training.”, Junmyeon tells him quietly and Baekhyun huffs out a frustrated breath. “If you saw it once, then-”  
“No.”, he says then, Junmyeon snapping his mouth shut with an audible noise. “Him. The very same man, Junmyeon. That night in the desert.”

The healer’s mouth shapes a soft ‘o’, his lips round and slack and then his entire body twitches, something flickering across his face that Baekhyun doesn’t understand but has seen countless of times. It’s a look of knowing, remembering what Baekhyun told him, about all the things he hears whispered in the silence of the night when his patients lie with a fever.  
“Are you sure?”, he asks then, so quietly that Baekhyun is barely able to hear it. “Are you certain it is the same man? Because if he is-”  
“He is.”, Baekhyun insists with a nod and Junmyeon falls silent again. “I am sure.”  
Once again the healer seems to contemplate his words, his head cocking from one side to the other and then, after he closes his eyes and that unsettling white-blue is gone, he slumps back in his chair. Baekhyun’s nose throbs in the silence of the chamber, a pulse that runs all the way down his spine.  
“I don’t know what to tell you, Baekhyun.”, Junmyeon says after the silence and his voice is thick. “Perhaps you should go pray and ask the gods for guidance. They will be able to tell you what you should do with that knowledge. Have faith in the gods and they shall bestow their wisdom upon you.”  
Baekhyun has everything. But no faith.  
  
  
  
They never stay long after a kill.  
  
Baekhyun himself searched the city once, hunting one of them down while the blood on the floor was still sticky and warm. The murderer was gone. The feather left behind on the victims throat soaking up red blood and slowly crusting into the skin of the dead one. They come and go as they please, a kill in the silence of the night or the middle of the day - and then they vanish as if they are nothing but a mirage produced by the flickering heat of the desert surrounding the city. And Baekhyun feels as if he is chasing down the image of a dream as he wanders the streets in the setting sun, wondering if the moment is already over and Teuk’s murderer is already gone.  
There is no way to chase him down across the sand. He once was foolish enough to try and it cost him more than just the life of his mentor, his father. The man’s eyes, dark beneath the shadows of a hood hastily pulled over black hair, are burned into the back of his eyelids, as if they are a mirror of his own. But his are blue, he reminds himself with a shudder and rounds another corner, sinking deeper into the shadows of the setting sun. It’s getting colder by the minute and Baekhyun shivers with it.  
He will be gone already, he tells himself while he walks deeper and deeper into the narrow alleys that are the city’s outskirts, pulling the long white coat he is wearing a little tighter around his shoulders. There is no use in doing this, comes the next thought with a heavy sigh. They are masters of the maskerade, veiling themselves perfectly within the crowd and melting in with their surroundings. The sons are never able to track them down before the kill, no matter if they know one of them is in town or not. All over the country, they are stacking up bodies of those whose lives were taken by the poison of their blades and mouths. He turns, back towards the healers halls - to find Junmyeon, to talk himself out of running after a man that can kill him with a single glance his direction. And halts.

There are screams echoing across the night. Panicked, high-pitched screams.

His blood freezes in his veins and he swallows, touching the hilt of his sword where it dangles uselessly by his side. He’s taken lives before, he tells himself. It’s his holy duty to kill this assassin. It’s the purpose of the order he served ever since he was nothing more than a child, handed over to his mentor by the hands of his very own mother. So he could serve a greater good. So he could become more than his father, who was a simple fisher before the crocodiles tore him apart. He knows his mother meant no harm, but sometimes the honest work of a fisherman seems more alluring than the death that surrounds him day in and day out. It’s them dying, or the assassins.  
He starts running the moment he hears another scream, this time louder and more pronounced, filled with agony and pain. The way towards the main entrance of the healers hall is shrouded in the half-light of the rising moon, the stalls of the apothecaries and physicians abandoned for hours already. And yet there are bodies littering the ground, left and right along the narrow street that leads up the small hill the temple is located on, a man twisting on the floor in agony while pressing both his hands onto the deep cut going straight up his stomach, trying desperately to keep his guts inside his own body. Baekhyun retches at the sight. The man’s eyes are feverish already when Baekhyun takes a step closer, out of the alley, only to stop dead in his tracks. An arrow, stuck from the man’s throat cuts his begging silent and for a moment, he can do nothing but stare down at the body, that exhales a long, quivering sigh.  
The soft sound of a string pulling taught has Baekhyun looking up and he freezes, muscles locked as his gaze finds the single figure standing by the entrance of the healers hall, a black scarf pulled up around his chin and nose, hiding half of his face.  
  
“It’s you.”, he says loudly and straightens his shoulders, tries to seem calm even while his heart is racing inside his chest. This is not how he wants to die. Killed by an arrow to the neck like the corpse by his feet. “Did you come back to kill more of us? Now, that you are already in the city?”  
For a moment, nothing happens, the arrow aimed at him not moving a single inch, the assassin’s arms not even trembling with the effort to pull the bowstring back. It’s a mighty bow, almost as long as the man’s torso, vicious blades at each of its ends. It’s a beautiful weapon and if Baekhyun weren’t so scared, he would admire it. The arrow snaps off the string then, piercing the dirt in front of his shoe and Baekhyun is almost proud at the calm he still displays, not even taking a single step back or flinching. It’s almost as if he knows the man won’t kill him.  
“I am not here for senseless bloodshed.”, the assassin answers him just as loudly, the bow slowly sinking and then clattering to the ground carelessly. As if it means nothing to him. His build is strong, arms wrapped in leather and cloth from the knuckles to the elbows, upper arms naked and bulging with muscle that tapers off into his shoulders, hidden under the sleeveless, black tunic he wore at the market after he shrugged off his coat to kill those two guards holding him still. “I have fulfilled my duty. Those men-” He swipes an arm across the scene surrounding them, turning his head ever so slightly when he hears shouts coming from the entrance of the temple. “- were unfortunate enough to be here at the wrong time. I am sure the order of the sun will reward their families richly. Am I mistaken?”  
“You killed him.”, Baekhyun whispers in horror, taking a step forward and the assassin takes one back as an echo. “You came for Teuk’s head.”  
“Your preacher is dead, yes.”, the assassin nods and Baekhyun waits desperately for the anger to kick in. For the need to avenge the mentor that was never his. Heechul will be seething in anger. He, standing here and facing off against the killer, is not. He feels nothing. “You made him a martyr.”  
The assassin laughs silently, looking off to the side and then shifting where he stands, almost as if he is still deciding if he should run from the advancing sanctum guards, or if he should stay and fight.  
  
Baekhyun watches him, nearly curious and wets over his bottom lip.

“I can’t let you leave like this.”, he tells the other man then and the assassin rumbles out a quiet affirmation. “I already thought you would say that. You sons and your false sense of duty.”  
“There is nothing-”  
He stops short in his words when the man reaches up and pulls back his hood, revealing the shock of black curls that sits atop his head, silken in the light of the moon and falling into his forehead. There is a scar running down through one of his eyebrows that Baekhyun doesn’t remember seeing and he wonders for a moment, if it was there at the market too. Or if his mind is playing tricks on him and this is not the man he remembers from that desert night.  
“Are you really going to fight me?”, the assassin asks and Baekhyun breathes in slowly, takes another step forward. He wants to curl his hand around the hilt of sword, but he can’t. His body is moving forward and forward still as if he is drawn into the man’s orbit - by the black of his eyes, the curve of his mouth. By the memory of the very same eyes looking down at him while ordered to kill Baekhyun. Kill him like he killed his mentor.  
“This time”, he starts then again, watching Baekhyun with his head cocked to the side. “I will kill you.”  
“Then come.”, Baekhyun answers him and finally - _finall_ y - draws his sword. “I will not give in easily.”  
As if it’s what he needed to hear, _wanted_ to hear, the man’s lips spread apart in a smile. It’s grim and wicked and Baekhyun is braced for the moment he lunges for him.  
The dagger in his hand is cruel, curved and sharp and pointed like a needle and Baekhyun sees it plunging deeply into his eye socket already before he easily steps to the side, turning his body so he can swipe at the other man’s belly where it’s unprotected and only clad in simple linen.  
“Kill him, Baekhyun!”, Heechul’s command from earlier that day screams through his head and he isn’t sure if he’s terrified or amazed when he sees his sword slice through the assassin’s tunic, into the skin of his stomach. The man doesn’t even falter, sliding to an abrupt halt and then turning on him once more, like a lion on its prey. Baekhyun has the advantage of a sword, longer than the other’s dagger - but with him so close and pushing him back, back, back, there is no advantage at all. He can’t use his sword like this, so close to the other’s body he can feel the heat radiating off of him.  
A strike hits him across the chest plate he’s wearing, scraping noisily and leaving a nasty gash across the gold and Baekhyun stumbles back, gasping for air from the sudden push against his sternum.  
The guards stream out into the open from the entrance just when the assassin swings a fist at Baekhyun’s face, aiming for his still sensitive nose. He catches the punch easily, throwing himself to the side and they tumble to the floor, rolling over each other through the dusty sand and he hears Heechul scream at him once more. It’s so loud, he could as well be screaming into his ear.  
  
“If you don’t kill him now, I will kill _you!”_

Like they should have after he returned without a mentor, leaving the man to rot in the sands of the desert seven years ago. Teuk acted against the law of the order, keeping him alive and Baekhyun knows that Heechul always hated him for the affection the older man gave him. He lost his father figure that night, Teuk would always say with that gentle voice of his and Heechul would turn away, scoffing. It’s a student’s duty to fall with their master before they are raised to be a member of the order. Baekhyun failed that duty. The assassin underneath him stills for a moment, groaning in pain and only then Baekhyun realizes his sword stuck in flesh, soft and wet under his hand that is braced against the man’s abdomen, right next to where the blade is stuck in his hip. It would be so easy to pull the sword out and cut into the man’s neck now, he thinks.  
And yet, opening his eyes and looking up at the other’s face, he is stuck again. It’s like the gaze they shared in the desert. Something passing between them. Heechul is yelling somewhere by the pillars surrounding the temple's entrance, mindlessly and angry and Baekhyun can’t understand him.  
  
He’s stuck, looking down at the assassin’s face.  
  
The pain that races up his spine has him yelling in shock, the dagger digging deep and deeper into his side, through the space between his ribs and into the side of his stomach.  
So they sit there - Baekhyun on the other’s lap - and stare at each other. He sees the blow coming and yet does nothing to avoid it. It’s their lives in exchange, Teuk’s voice tells him in the back of his mind. Their lives are intertwined and  
for each shadow, there has to be a light rising. There had to be a reason why the apprentice let him live and turned on his master instead.  
Perhaps, Baekhyun thinks to himself while he falls to the side and hits the floor, head nearly knocking open on the stone. Perhaps it was so he could kill him now, as a worthy opponent.


	4. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm two days early with the update but I will be super busy this entire weekend!   
> So! Here you go and I hope you will enjoy this chapter. It's a little slow-paced, with a lot of character interaction, but honestly speaking... it's my favorite chapter of this entire work. Kudos to all the people leaving Kudos and special thanks to the people who commented!  
> My cat was super happy to get special treats <3 
> 
> Leave some comments if you have time! They make not only my day, but the day of my beta reader as well!

Seven lives in the span of one night. It should be enough to finally shed the last weakness of his humanity. Four guards alone before the son of the sun decided to make a run for it, knowing he could never win against an adept of Jongdae’s order on his own, what with his comrades fallen and unmoving on the ground, slowly bleeding out. Jongdae curses as he pushes two of his fingers deeply into the wound in his side, feeling the bone of his hip against the side of his index while he hisses through his teeth. The shadows inside his soul are only numbing the pain of the injury itself, not the agony he is inflicting onto himself with reaching into his own stomach. There is no dirt inside the wound, his flesh sticky and wet and hot around his fingers and he holds his breath while pulling at his own insides - his own soul - to seal the wound shut.   
He’s not human enough anymore to look down at the wound and fear for his life. 

Bleeding out because of this simple injury is still an all too real threat, though and Jongdae winces as he looks down at his hip. Another scar to add, another fight with him coming out as the winner.   
And yet, he scowls, anger bubbling up inside of him - hot and heavy. He’s angry at himself, mostly.   
“Not my mission.”, he defends himself against the silence of the house, sinking down onto a low stool that is creaking in protest under his weight. “He was not my mission.”  
The house moves around him with soft noises and Jongdae closes his eyes, breathing heavily through his nose to calm his body and most of all his mind. The son of the sun was not his mission, not the target he was sent to kill. But a life that belongs to the light is worth so much more than those simple guards and while he relieved the damned heretic of the heavy weight that was his head, a second head to bring home would be better.   
There is no second body, not for Jongdae. He spilled so much blood tonight, where would have been the difference? It would have been a big one, he thinks to himself while he slams the cup of herbal tea down on the simple wooden table, hot water splashing over his fingers that are clutching the ceramic cup so tight, he thinks he might break it.  The cup hitting the table is so loud, he misses the sound of rustling clothing and heavy, dragging steps across the dusty floor - too loud for him to react soon enough. A sudden weight on his back has him huffing in irritation, losing his balance on the stool. He falls against the table, knocking over the cup and spilling tea all over himself and the floor, the cup breaking when it hits the stone.  An arm curls around his neck, trying to cut off his air supply but the movements are so clumsy it’s as if he’s fighting a drunk man. He reaches up as soon as he finds his footing again, gripping a slender wrist and  _ yanks. _ He bends forward, lets the body on his back roll across his shoulder and slams the man down onto the table, tucking and pulling until he has him on his stomach with his arm twisted onto his back. A hoarse scream shatters the silence of the night and then it’s silent again.  Jongdae’s breath is heavy, the strain on his wound having his stomach throbbing with uncomfortable warmth, but he keep his grip strong even while he straightens and looks down at the man, who was skillful enough to ram a sword clean through Jongdae’s hip.

“You’re awake.”, he mutters and the other meets his eyes, furious. He looks so defiant, ready to claw Jongdae’s eyes out if only he would let him go and Jongdae tightens his hold just a little.   
The other doesn’t move, just looks up at him with burning blue eyes.   
“You said you’d kill me.”, the other spits roughly and Jongdae grimaces. “Instead you kidnapped me. What for? So you could torture me before you cut my throat?”  
“Torture is not my field of work.”, Jongdae replies and then yelps in shock when the other’s foot suddenly knocks against the inside of his knee and throws him off balance once again.   
He stumbles, fingers slipping over the other man’s wrist and he would be amazed, if he weren’t shocked, how easy it is for the man to push himself up and jump at him. He wraps around Jongdae like a snake, strong thighs bracketing his waist so high, they are pressing into his ribs. Crushing the air out of him even before he can exhale through his shock, a fist against the side of his cheek knocking the air straight out of him.   
  
He growls in anger, grabs the man’s rib cage and presses  _ down.  _

It’s right where his own dagger hit in their earlier fight and there is this grim kind of satisfaction coursing through him when he hears a sudden scream of pain from above. He grips tighter, wrapping a strong hand around a firm thigh and turns himself around, crashing his attacker against the wall, pinning him in place with the weight of his own body.   
“Baekhyun, stop!”, he yells and the man freezes, blue eyes growing wide upon hearing his own name.  His mouth opens, then closes again and Jongdae curses loudly when fingernails scrape down the side of his neck in an attempt to get him to back off. They struggle, hands slapping against hands and the slender body underneath his bucking like a wild horse, before Jongdae is able to wrap a hand around a delicate throat and put an end to this pointless fighting.   
They’re both injured, both at the end of their strength.

They both are exhausted. 

“Stop.”, he repeats, firmly and searches for the soldier’s gaze, that fixes him instantly, lips curling in anger - or disgust. “I didn’t patch you up so you could go and rip the wound open again.”  
“Patch me up.”, the other growls and his hands both wrap around Jongdae’s arm. “Curse me, you wanted to say. What did you  _ do  _ to me?”  
For a long, breathing filled moment, Jongdae isn’t sure if he should laugh or just stare. A part of him wants to stare - look at the other man up close like this, completely at his mercy.   
He  _ should  _ have killed him. He shouldn’t have slung the unconscious man across his shoulder and take him to the safehouse. Stupid, Jongdae scolds himself while pressing down a little harder on the other’s throat, making him gasp. He’s just as pretty as Jongdae remembers him.  Seven years and yet nothing changed, except for the color of his eyes. 

“I didn’t curse you.”, he replies then and nearly winces at the confusion lacing through his voice. “I saved your worthless life. That’s what I did.”  
Baekhyun glowers at him for a heartbeat, then his hands are scrambling, fluttering uselessly before he manages to grab the hold of his shirt and pull it up, revealing planes of hard muscle and a heaving chest. Jongdae is sure if he looked closely enough, he would see the other’s heart beating through his pectorals. Where Jongdae’s dagger slid right through the space between Baekhyun’s ribs, there is a curl of swirling black dancing across his skin, hissing like snakes when the soldier’s fingers brush to close around the wound.   
“What. Did. You. Do!”, he insists, voice nothing more than a venomous whisper. “Your kind and your unholy magic disgust me.”  
It’s Jongdae, who glares this time. “Well. Your holiness, this is your _ own _ darkness that keeps this wound closed now. Not mine. Me and my kind don’t have magic like your holy waters and prayers.”  
Baekhyun’s lips move, there is a gentle breath exhaled across Jongdae’s face and this time, Jongdae allows himself to be amused, when he watches the other’s face contort with a play of emotions.  
First, there is confusion and Jongdae wonders why there is no anger. Then, there is something that is so close to defeat, it nearly makes his heart clench. He’s never seen someone look at him this way, unless they accepted their inevitable death. But Baekhyun doesn’t look at him as if he is waiting for Jongdae to kill him. The desperation in his blue eyes isn’t fear, it’s acceptance.   
“You killed my Master.”, Baekhyun mutters then and Jongdae braces himself for another attack, already raising a hand to slap the man across the face. Baekhyun stays still though, looking at him with this damned look in his eyes. “Knowing your kind, you cut his head off.”  
“Stop saying that.”, Jongdae snaps and drops him, stepping back so fast, Baekhyun crashes to the floor with a yelp, falling all over himself before he ends up braces against the table that wobbles dangerously under his weight. “There is no such thing as  _ my kind.  _ You’re the same as me.”

“Am I?”, Baekhyun shoots right back and tries to straighten, but the pain in his side has him wincing and ducking low again. He looks like a cat ready to pounce. And Jongdae knows he probably will.   
What a mess, he thinks just as Baekhyun lunges at him again, aiming for his face. Exhausted and beaten, angry at himself for not killing the other when he had the chance, Jongdae punches him right in the face. Baekhyun doesn’t even react, only sags down like a puppet without strings.  He doesn’t catch the falling soldier, just watches as he crumbles on the floor.  For a moment he breathes heavily through his nose, looking down at the body by his feet, reaches for the knife hidden in the folds of his tunic. Cut his throat, he tells himself, fingers already grasping the hilt of the little dagger. Cut his throat and toss him out into the street. He’s the enemy. 

But this look of defeat - it’s burned into the back of his own eyes. 

“If you don’t kill him, I will kill you.”, he repeats those poisonous words he heard earlier, screamed with so much anger and hatred by the very man who fled and left Baekhyun to die. Are they looking for him, for a body? Or is this man he saw earlier looking for Baekhyun to kill him? Shouldn’t a son of the sun face death without fear?  Then why can he only remember Baekhyun hesitating, fighting so hard - not to kill Jongdae, but to survive. Why is it as if he can feel his own darkness moving, echoing with the darkness he pulled out of Baekhyun’s soul to seal the injury Jongdae himself inflicted on the other man?  He could have let him die there, bleed out or be killed by the other son. 

He didn’t. 

“Not my mission, not my target.”, Jongdae whispers to himself and lets go of the knife. And while he hoists Baekhyun up across his shoulder, he hears Taeyeon whisper into his ear, as if she is standing right next to him, feet slowly sinking into still-warm sand. “He’ll be the hunter and you’ll be the prey.”  
This man -  _ boy -  _ is not a hunter. And Jongdae isn’t even sure if he’s a warrior.  
  
  
Baekhyun packs quite the punch.   
  
His head is ringing when he steadies himself against the wall, free hand cradling the side of his neck while he glares at the man who still has a fist raised, ready to punch him again.   
“The windows are nailed shut.”, Baekhyun tells him, as if it would explain the punch Jongdae received in lieu of a greeting. His head throbs painfully as he scoffs, shooting a look at the window.   
“Of course they are.”, he answers, gritting his teeth and eyeing Baekhyun warily. “What did you expect.”  
“Let me go.”  
“Let me ask you a question.”, Jongdae says instead of giving a direct answer, brushing back a strand of hair that fell into his eyes with Baekhyun’s punch. He sees the other’s eyes following the movement of his hand, lips pursing. “Do I look like a fool to you? Do I strike you as stupid?”  
“You strike me as a lot of things.”, Baekhyun replies with bared teeth and Jongdae nearly laughs. He looks like a child, ready to fight for a toy. Defiantly raised chin, balled fists and red cheeks.   
“Then you have your answer.”, he shrugs and Baekhyun growls, swinging at his head again. It’s easy to catch his hand, twist his wrist until he can hear the bones protesting loudly and Baekhyun’s knees buckle with the pain. It shouldn’t be so easy to hold him down like this, wrist firmly between his fingers and Jongdae thinks of Jisoo - of the way she always tries to get under his skin, only to be close to him. Baekhyun is not like that. He’s fighting back, even if it might not be physically. But the way he looks up at Jongdae, lips a tight white line and eyes glimmering as they hold Jongdae’s gaze.   
“Let me go.”, he snaps again, albeit silently and Jongdae shakes his head, pulling him up by the wrist until Baekhyun cries out in agony and slaps a hand against the other’s chest. The shove is too weak to even sway Jongdae backwards, but he humors the soldier with one side of his mouth tucked up into a crooked smile. They stumble against each other, Baekhyun’s hand trapped between their bodies, putting more strain on the bones with the push and Jongdae’s fingers still gripping him tightly.   
  
“I can’t let you go, Baekhyun.”, he mutters back, leaning down so low, they are basically breathing the same air. He doesn’t miss the way Baekhyun’s eyes narrow at the way he lets his name roll off his tongue, all low and taunting - and he doesn’t miss the way he shifts on his feet, readying himself for a kick. Jongdae moves with the kick to his kneecap, turning his body just so he is pulling Baekhyun with him, making him lose his balance and throwing him to the side as if he doesn’t weight more than a rag doll. Baekhyun lands against the low dresser by the side of the bed with a crash of breaking wood.  He groans, instantly clutching the side of his chest and Jongdae sees hints of red seeping through the linen of his tunic. The fabric is crusted over brown by now, the contrast of the fresh blood stark and cruel. He clicks his tongue, shaking his head and begins to turn away, when he hears Baekhyun calling out for him again. It’s so silent, he nearly misses it.   
“So what are you planning to do with me, if you’re not letting me go? Do I consider myself your prisoner now?”

“Consider yourself, whatever you want.”, Jongdae throws back over his shoulder, but his body won’t move. He’s rooted to the spot in the doorway, leading into the narrow hallway that is so short, if Baekhyun would tackle him from behind, he’d fall down the stairs. And yet, he doesn’t turn. Doesn’t look back. “As long as I’m stuck here, I can’t let you go back to the order and tell them, where I am.”  
“So I’m a hostage.”, Baekhyun states and Jongdae barks out a hard, cynical laugh.   
“Maybe you are.”, he shrugs and makes to close the door, but Baekhyun’s fingers around his wrist stop him from pulling it shut.   
Their eyes meet once again and Jongdae curses himself for the hitch in his breath, when he sees the other’s gaze shifting down his features and back up to his inky eyes again.   
“What if I promise you… not to tell them, where you are?”, he asks, almost pleadingly and Jongdae bites the inside of his cheek, eyebrows furrowing. “I can’t trust a son of the sun.”  
“And you ask me to trust an assassin, who just murdered the man who saved my life?”, Baekhyun grits out and his fingers tighten around Jongdae’s wrist.   
  
Why hasn’t he pulled his hand away yet, a voice in the back of his head asks him and it sounds dangerously like Taeyeon. He leans to the side a little, balancing his weight on the other foot, ready for another attack -   
but Baekhyun just looks at him, serious eyes and the slope his mouth set with grim determination.   
“It was _me,_ who saved your life.”, Jongdae instead replies, voice sharp as a blade. “Twice.”  
Ripping his arm out of Baekhyun’s hold, he steps away then, running a hand through his dark hair, as if the motion of his hand could brush away those traitorous thoughts.   
“I’ll make sure you don’t starve. Be thankful I’m not killing you instead.”  
  
Baekhyun just stands there, working his jaw back and forth, staring.   
  
He’s breathing hard, almost like he’s working himself into an angry fit again and Jongdae takes another step backwards, to bring a little bit more distance between them.   
“You don’t-”, Baekhyun starts and then breaks himself off, as if the things he wanted to say would hang between them, if only he says them out loud. You don’t have to keep me alive. You don’t have to feed me. You don’t have to stitch up my wound. No, Jongdae thinks as he braces a hand against the wall and feels for his injury, making sure it’s not bleeding, aware of Baekhyun’s heavy look on him.   
“You don’t have a way out of here, what with the windows nailed shut. You made sure to do the same with the door, right?” He sounds amused, eyebrows raising as if he outsmarted Jongdae, who just smirks right back.   
  
“Oh, you sons. Such simple minds.”

“You can’t walk through walls, don’t even try to convince me otherwise. I saw you bleed, assassin. You’re no god.”, Baekhyun shoots right back and cocks his hip to the side and for a moment Jongdae is tempted to snicker. Amused. He’s amused and he doesn’t know why the air between them feels as if it’s filled with humor instead of hostility.   
“No.”, he agrees easily, lifting one shoulder and still smirking broadly. “I can’t. But I am capable of a lot of things you can only dream of.”   
Baekhyun is already opening his mouth to reply, when Jongdae pushes himself off of the wall, putting so much strength into his arm, it throws him into the other wall. He catches himself narrowly with a foot against the wall, driving his body up the wall just far enough to grab the edge of the only skylight in the hallway. He pulls himself up easily enough, disappearing from Baekhyun’s sight.  There’s silence from below and then a grumbled “no, I definitely can’t do that”. He laughs the entire way to the market, only stopping when he realizes he does. Laughter. Something he hasn’t felt like this in a long time. And perhaps, he thinks to himself while digging in his pocket for silver coins, he doesn’t want to laugh like this.

 

“I’m not poisoning you.”, Jongdae eventually snarls, after he watched Baekhyun push his bread across the simple wooden plate, eyeing him from where Jongdae has tied him to a chair. He can move just enough to lift his arms to his plate and reach his mouth, but after the other man decided to attack him with a knife he grabbed from the table earlier, Jongdae deemed it too dangerous to simply let him roam freely inside the tiny kitchen. There’s no fireplace they can use, their meals cold and while Jongdae is used to it, he is sure Baekhyun isn’t.   
“You might as well try, assassin.”, Baekhyun retorts, lifting his chin and flicking a piece of bread off his plate in Jongdae’s direction. “Isn’t killing your craft?”   
“I don’t _poison_ people.”, Jongdae nearly growls, reaching for the piece of food calmly before stuffing it into his own mouth, keeping Baekhyun’s gaze, unfazed. “If you want to starve yourself, please be my guest. You’re a pest. No wonder your comrade wants to kill you too.”  
He half-expects the other to throw something back at him - he never fails to do - but instead his face falls and Jongdae feels a weird cold curl inside the pit of his stomach. Baekhyun is completely frozen on his chair, eyes wide and unseeing as he stares down at the bread and the sugared figs Jongdae bought - mostly for himself. His fingers are soft and lax even while holding a piece of fruit, his throat working around a swallow and then he starts blinking rapidly. He’s not crying, but he might as well be. The play of sadness across his face says more than any sharp-tongued sentence ever could and Jongdae doesn’t understand why. The sons of the sun don’t fear death.   
But Baekhyun looks scared, hopelessness written all over his face. If Jongdae were a better man, if he were a different man, he would reach out and comfort Baekhyun now. He’d untie him and let him go - but wouldn’t that mean, he would let him walk back into the hornet's nest Jongdae created inside the order? He walked in there, killed a master and then left, taking Baekhyun with him.   
All that, after hearing the threat thrown at the other man, while they were fighting. 

“Untie me.”, Baekhyun demands suddenly and even though he tries to lace his voice with venom, it breaks around the words. He won’t even meet Jongdae’s eyes when he looks back up from his plate. The fruit falls from his fingers, rolling off the side of the plate and this time, Jongdae doesn’t reach for the food. Instead he stands and walks around the table, bending down to tug the knot open he fixed onto the back of his chair. For a moment he thinks Baekhyun will get up and leave, or punch him again, but instead the man reaches forward and plucks the fig off the wooden table, stuffing it into his mouth almost defiantly. Jongdae watches, standing beside him motionlessly, before he walks back and starts eating again.  They eat in silence, Baekhyun reaching for a second pita bread, nearly tipping the neatly stacked pile off the side with how quick and jerky his movements are. Jongdae just watches him, ripping his own bread into tiny pieces, easily plopped into his mouth, one after the other. 

“If you think I won’t fight you, you’re wrong, assassin.”, the soldier says into the silence between them and Jongdae hums around the mouth full of fig he’s chewing, not meeting Baekhyun’s searching stare for once.   
“I’ll get one of these windows open.”, Baekhyun keeps pressing and Jongdae snorts this time, swallowing heavily. “And if I have to kill you, I will. I’d rather not. Not right now. You saved me from bleeding out, after all. Even though I’m sure, Junmyeon could have done that too.”  
“If you say so.”, Jongdae replies silently, cocking his head to the side when he finally looks back up at Baekhyun’s face, lips curling at the corners. “You’ll be back with your beloved order soon enough. After I have time to heal and regain strength to travel.”   
Baekhyun purses his lips, jaw set and Jongdae sees his cheeks moving, as if he’s running his tongue over his teeth in contemplation. “Why did you do it?”   
“What?”, Jongdae asks, leaning back in his chair and brushing bread crumbs off the table, one after the other. Baekhyun scoffs, pushing his plate away so hard, it knocks into Jongdae’s own. 

“You know what.”

“No, I don’t.”, Jongdae simply says, flicking another crumb away. “Did anybody ever tell you, you talk too much? That’s what you sons are good at. Talking. You do nothing but talk.”  
“And you do nothing but spill blood.”, the other man answers without missing a beat and Jongdae snorts. Silence stretches between them for a couple of heartbeats, then Jongdae asks:  
“Would you rather change the world, or talk even though you know people won’t listen to you?”  
Baekhyun’s mouth grows hard then, eyes narrowing and when he replies, his words are hissed, his fists balled on top of the table. “I’d rather protect people, instead of killing innocents.”  
“Nobody I kill is innocent.”, Jongdae tells him with a smile, brushing the side of his hand over a patch next to his plate. He blows the crumbs off his skin then, eyebrows raising in a challenge. “Or do you think I’m going around, killing children and their mothers while they sleep?”  
He knows he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t talk about this, especially not with the enemy. An enemy he saved instead of finishing off. An enemy that feels like a friend right now, sitting across from him after a meal and a shared pitcher of wine that has Baekhyun’s tongue loose, or so it seems. Jongdae runs his tongue over his bottom lip, chasing the taste of calming lilacs. It feels like something Jongdae never really knew. They’re equals, what with the way they are looking at each other, challenging and yet too relaxed while they should be at each other’s throats.   
  
“Zhoumi.”, Baekhyun eventually says slowly and Jongdae feels his upper lip lift in disgust.   
“Who do you think he was?”, he inquires silently and Baekhyun breathes in sharply.   
“A supporter of the order. A merchant, who made sure we have enough food in this city to feed the people during this drought.”, comes the answer then and it sounds rehearsed, as if those words aren’t Baekhyun’s own. Jongdae waits, lifting one eyebrow to signal Baekhyun to go on, but all he gets is a hard stare and so he leans forward slowly, spreading his hands across the rough wood between them and hisses: “Zhoumi was a merchant who made sure to feed the people of this city with blood money. He gave rotten food to the people who couldn’t afford to buy their share. He took their children after they died, sold them into slavery in exchange for wares. If he didn’t keep them for himself, that is. And you know who Zhoumi really was? Someone who dragged young men into his bed, promising them a bright future while his wife and children waited for him at home. He destroyed those people, using them as long as they entertained them, only to toss them to the lions in the pit fights of our dear neighbouring kingdom.”  
And just like that, their moment is broken.   
Jongdae can watch it break apart, as if he’s sitting in a coliseum as a spectator, looking down into the pit where the carneys present their newest interpretation of the world around them. The way Baekhyun’s shoulders lock, how his chin lifts and how his eyes grow dark even though the brilliant blue color sparkles in the twilight of the kitchen. His fingers clutch hard around the simple clay mug he was sipping from, the cup hitting the table with an audible thud.   
“The words of a vile assassin like you mean nothing to me.”, the other man spits then, pushing his chair back and getting to his feet. Jongdae glances at the knife where he left it earlier after slicing up the figs he bought. And yet, even though his entire body is trembling, Baekhyun doesn’t make a move for the makeshift weapon. “Every word that falls from your lips is nothing but poison.”  
“Is it?”, Jongdae retorts lightly, almost flippantly and Baekhyun hisses at him - a wordless snarl that shakes his entire, slender body.   
“Get well soon.”, he then spits out, looking as if he wants to spit onto the floor for real. Like so many people have done before in Jongdae’s presence. “So I don’t have to listen to your lies anymore.”

Jongdae remains sitting at the table, the tips of his fingers brushing over the edge of his own cup, collecting moisture to wipe it off again. It’s an absent minded gesture, eyes trained on the far wall.   
Members of the order, he scoffs then to himself. If only they weren’t born in the safety of the order, if only they could see the world for what it really is.   
Born in their palaces, raised with the knowledge of being better than the rest of the world. A place secured for them in their heaven, just because they turn a blind eye on the horrors happening around them. Baekhyun reeks of it. Of the privilege, the belief hammered into him.  Still…   
Jongdae raises from his seat when he hears the door upstairs slam shut, the entire tiny house seeming to shake with the force. He’s no healer, only skilled enough to stitch himself shut, if he has to. But his body has long stopped being human - Baekhyun’s body still is. All too human, all too soft when Jongdae dug his fingers into the space between his ribs and reached inside.   
He found the darkness, familiar and curling around him like the fingers of an old friend.  Perhaps, he thinks to himself with a smile that was borderline cruel. Perhaps the little fair haired saint isn’t as pure as he makes himself believe.   
  


  
Baekhyun wakes up to the sound of something breaking and a low, anguished voice shouting out somewhere behind the fog of his own blurry mind. He’s curled around the splinter of wood he managed to rip out of the boards nailed in front of the window last night, holding the long piece as if it’s a weapon. His fingers are stiff and the knuckles protest painfully when he lets go of the wood, tossing it off the side of the bed. Something’s wrong. He can sense it, almost taste it on his tongue.  It’s the silence of the house, no tinkering from the assassin downstairs, no open door to drag him out into the hallway and shove him down the stairs. It’s almost amusing to him, how the man who tried to kill him, is now trying to keep him alive. Whatever stupid honor is pushing him to do it, Baekhyun certainly isn’t complaining. But now, with the house silent after the breaking and the scream, it feels as if it’s a death trap.   
Or maybe his brothers came to look for him, maybe they were able to track the assassin down, only to rescue Baekhyun and bring him home. It’s a foolish thought. Most of them probably think he’s dead and gone - and if he isn’t, he will be. What would Junmyeon say, if he knew where Baekhyun is right now,  _ who  _ he is with right now.  With hesitant steps, Baekhyun makes his way over to the door, pulling it open with one fist raised, ready to fight if he has to. But the short hallway is empty behind the door, the skylight letting in enough light for Baekhyun to see the staircase and the blue sky above. It has to be early morning, judging from the hues of yellow and pink still sprinkled across the blue canvas above his head.  Yet it’s not the only color he sees. 

There is a crimson hand print on the wall to his left, some on the floor directly underneath the skylight. It looks as if the murderer fell through the ceiling, Baekhyun thinks - but then the smile falls off his lips as if someone slapped him. If the man dies, he’s trapped in here. He isn’t strong enough to push the dresser from the scraggy bedroom out underneath the skylight, nor has he healed enough to climb up onto the roof. Even if he were, what would he do then? Yell for help until someone would bring him a ladder? He’s trapped in here, if his captor dies.   
“Damn.”, he whispers to himself, following the trail of bloody handprints down the hall and eventually down the stairs, where he stops just before he steps into the kitchen. There’s a piece of cloth hanging from the ceiling, concealing the view into the scarce room, but he can see shards of pottery and a puddle of wine from where he’s standing on the staircase. It’s silent, but someone is moving behind the threadbare curtain and Baekhyun takes one last, final breath before he pushes through and steps into the kitchen. The room is just as meager as the rest of the house, everything run down and well-used - probably by countless assassins who traveled to this city to make their kill.   
The walls are lined with low counters made from wood and stones, the fireplace sealed shut with rough bricks. Countless wooden bowls and plates are thrown to the floor, some brown clay pots shattered on the stone and strew across the room. And there, hunched over the counter, clutching the edge of the wood, stands the assassin with his back turned towards Baekhyun.    
He’s trembling, Baekhyun can see it. A bead of sweat is rolling down the back of his neck, dripping into the low cut collar of his tunic and his muscles are so taut, they look like ropes ready to snap underneath the other’s golden skin. Baekhyun doesn’t realize he made a sound, until the man whirls around, dagger in hand and looking like a wild animal, driven into a corner. He’s breathing so hard, his chest is positively heaving, his mouth is open to suck in air as best as he can, what with one of his arms wrapped around himself tightly and pressing onto his hip. There’s blood bubbling up between his fingers and Baekhyun takes an unconscious step forward.   
“Don’t.”, the assassin warns and Baekhyun stops walking instantly, pointing to the blood.   
“What happened?”, he asks, only to be answered with a hoarse, joyless laugh.   
“You got me real good there, that’s what happened.”, comes the gruff answer and then: “And I had a run in with the lovely guard of your order. It seems as if they don’t forgive easily.”

“What?”, Baekhyun whispers, before he can catch himself. The other man’s eyes are murderous when they find his, even while he is leaning heavily onto the wooden counter behind him, fingers scrambling to cover his wound. He’s bleeding rather strong, Baekhyun notes in the back of his mind. He remembers the feeling of his sword stuck in the flesh under his hands, remembers how it felt to press his fingers into the muscles there, sword shifting and ripping apart more skin and scraping across bones.   
"Does the name Heechul ring a bell?”

Baekhyun twitches, eyes snapping up from the wound and towards the man’s face, who watches him warily, as if he is too aware of the way Baekhyun was staring at his injury and all the blood.   
  
“He’s my blood brother.”  
“I wouldn’t exactly consider him your friend.” The assassin turns away then, dropping his dagger to the counter, as if he decided Baekhyun isn’t a threat to him, even though he can barely keep himself upright where he’s standing. “He seemed rather happy at the thought I killed you and tossed you out for the vultures to feast on.”  
“Your lies, assassin-”, Baekhyun starts, cut off by a loud, angry snarl.   
“I have a  _ name  _ you know?”, the man growls out, cursing in a different language Baekhyun doesn’t understand, when he finally slumps forward onto his forearms, a wave of blood gushing over the counter and onto the floor. It’s a gruesome sight and Baekhyun feels bile rise in his throat.  For countless of reasons.  A tiny part of him doesn’t want to believe it, but he heard Heechul’s words, heard the way he yelled them - and he knows it’s true. With a sigh, he pushes forward, almost as if he has to push through a barrier the assassin put between them, even though he knows they can’t weave magic. Not like the healers do. Not like Junmyeon could.   
“You never bothered to tell me your name. What else am I supposed to call you, if not assassin?”, Baekhyun says slowly, reaching out a careful hand to turn the other around, who flinches away from his touch so violently, he knocks the dagger off the counter.   
“Don’t you dare  _ touch  _ me.”, he snaps and his voice feels like a whip. They’re so close, Baekhyun can smell the copper of his blood, the stench of his sweat. But there is something sweet to it too, something that reminds him of lilacs and cornflowers. He keeps his hand where it is, clasped firmly and unyielding around a hard biceps.   
“You’re losing a lot of blood.”, Baekhyun gives back resolutely, gritting his teeth and keeping the other’s stare, that looks so angry, he might as well drop dead from the weight of it alone.   
“You don’t say.”, the man simpers and then groans, when Baekhyun reaches around him to press the flat of his palm down over the wound. It’s a hiss of pain and a warning all in one.

“If you die, I’m trapped in this house.”, he says then, with a soft shrug that barely moves his shoulder. “And if I die in here, I will make your afterlife living hell.”  
The other man scoffs and turns his head away, but his body is trembling too hard for him to fight back when Baekhyun pushes him off the counter and towards a chair, both hands on his shoulders to press him down into it. And there it is again, this look in his eyes. Baekhyun saw it before, but the memory is blurry. It’s blurry because he doesn’t want to remember. A desert night, the heat of the sun on the market. And the assassin’s heavy gaze on him, as if they know each other as something else than enemies - bound by the ties of their creeds, obligated to kill each other.   
And yet here they are, trying to keep each other alive.   
  
“I can do that myself.” 

Baekhyun startles at that, hands falling away from the hem of the other’s tunic, who moans in pain but pulls the now ruined piece of clothing up and over his head. The wound is gruesome, purple around the edges and frayed around the seam. It’s ripped open again, almost healed once and crusted over, only to have burst open once again - worse.   
“I said, don’t touch me.”, the man barks then when Baekhyun tries reaching for the injury, trying to remember what Junmyeon once told him about blood poisoning and how it’s spreading through a man’s veins to kill him.   
“You’ll bleed out, assassin.”, Baekhyun insists, but his hand is pushed to the side with a stinging slap.   
“Jongdae. Stop calling me  _ assassin.  _ At least I have the decency to call you by your name.”  
“As I said!”, Baekhyun snaps right back at him, glaring. “You never bothered once to tell me your name. Now shut up and let me see this.  __ Jongdae.”  
“No.”, Jongdae tells him hardly and scoots back on his chair. “You’ll mess it up. Don’t touch me. Last warning. I will break your fingers clean off your hand if you do.”  
Baekhyun huffs at that, giving him a pointed look with his eyebrows raised, but Jongdae narrows his eyes at him and he relents, sitting back on his haunches. “Well then, be my guest and bleed to death.”  
“You’re in my house.”, the wounded man hisses at him, his entire face twisted in rage and agony. “If anything, you would be  _ my  _ guest to watch me do so.”  
“Do you have to be such an-”, Baekhyun starts, but falls silent when he watches in horror how Jongdae pushes three of his fingers into the cut, reaching into his own body so deeply, his fingers disappear up to the third knuckle. There is a muffled scream from above and Baekhyun wishes he could look away from all the blood, from the twisting flesh that is pushed open around too thick fingers.   
“What are you doing?!”, he almost yells, voice breaking through Jongdae’s strained breathing, but the assassin simply whispers back “shut up” and pushes deeper. He sees the fingers move, curling inside the wound and then they reappear, red and slimy and pulling something with them. At first he thinks it’s a snake, a parasite lodged deeply into the man’s stomach, but then he recognizes it as the same substance Jongdae used to seal Baekhyun’s own wound. His fingers find his side almost on instinct, but the wound doesn’t even hurt anymore.  And before his very eyes, the darkness - this  __ shadow -  spreads across the wound and bites into its edges like a tiny beast straight from Baekhyun’s nightmares. It pulls and tugs, all the while Jongdae is breathing hard through his nose, slumped over himself, muscles contracting and pulling taut. 

The bleeding stops, the wound is closed. 

And the darkness hisses at him when Baekhyun reaches out again, almost as if he wants to touch it, raising a tiny head towards his bloody finger, ready to bite. His wrist is caught before he makes contact with it, strong fingers digging bruises into his tender skin.   
“You don’t touch another man’s darkness.”, Jongdae growls out, but his fingers are still wrapped around Baekhyun’s wrist and he can’t help but look down at them. They’re clean, his bloody hand resting on the table and only then does he realize that Jongdae’s face is place, while his fingers are still a sun-kissed gold against the white of Baekhyun’s wrist, always protected by the vambrace.  
And his eyes are drooping, his entire body leaning onto the arm he has braced on the table, tilting dangerously to the side.   
“Are you going to die on me?”, Baekhyun asks out of reflex and he winces at how tight his voice sounds. Instead of answering, Jongdae chuckles, looking away to the side. 

“It takes more than this to kill me. I’m an assassin, remember? We’re monsters, according to your beloved order.”

“Why do you keep saying that?” Baekhyun shifts where he sits, knees aching. But he doesn’t get up, doesn’t give in to the sudden urge to go and fetch some water for his unintended comrade. “My beloved order.”  
"Because you sons of the sun are like that.”, Jongdae tells him and his voice is uncharastically soft around the edges. It sounds as if he’s about to faint and Baekhyun would rather have the snark back in his words. It scares him, all of a sudden. To see the other man like this, bloody and on the verge of passing out. A punch to the throat would be easier to take than these unwanted thoughts.   
“Always so devoted to your order.”  
“To the cause, you mean.”, Baekhyun corrects him sharply and finally gets up from his kneeling possession, turning around to look for the decanter with water he knows the assassin keeps around here somewhere. Just so he has something to do, other than to look at Jongdae, who’s slowly slumping in on himself.    
“What cause would that be?”, he hears the other ask and bites down on his bottom lip.  There was a time Baekhyun would have known the answer to that question by heart. Right now though, with the assassin sitting behind him, he doesn’t want to answer. Jongdae wouldn’t understand anyways. As a member of the order, he knows that talking never works when it comes to the brotherhood. The creed, Baekhyun thinks as he turns back towards Jongdae with a cup of clear, cold water between his hands. While he was raised to protect and preserve life, the brotherhood takes what the order is trying to protect. He’s seen it often enough.   
The cup shatters to the ground, exploding into shards almost instantly, when he finds Jongdae fallen forward, forehead resting on his arm and his eyes closed. He’s on him in a second, hands on the man’s shoulders to push him backwards, palm cradling the side of his face as if to slap him awake.   
“Don’t die on me now, assassin.”, Baekhyun tells him sternly and watches Jongdae’s black eyes flutter open weakly. “Remember. I’m dead too, if you die.”  
“Can a man not take a well deserved nap?”, Jongdae breathes out and for a moment, it doesn’t seem as if he’s even looking at Baekhyun, even though his eyes flicker up and down over his face. As if he’s studying. 

“Look at you.”, Jongdae then whispers and he’s so quiet, Baekhyun can barely hear him. His breath smells like blood, wet and hot across his cheeks and he leans closer, trying to make out what the man is saying oh so quietly.   
“So panicked over me. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you care.”  
Just like that, Baekhyun lets go of him, taking a step back with a snort. “I care enough for my own life. And all life is holy. The order says-”  
“There it is again.”, Jongdae interrupts him and Baekhyun thinks perhaps that’s a thing now - him getting interrupted and talked over, even while the other is dying in front of him. “The order this, the order that. Did you not learn to decide and think on your own?”  
“Just pass out already.”, Baekhyun seethes then, pushing his fingers against Jongdae’s shoulder to tilt him backwards on the chair. The man falls easily, like a corpse. “Fine master assassin that you are.”  
Jongdae’s answer is nothing more than a breathless laugh, taunting and dark and Baekhyun is remembered of the way he smirked, wicked and ready to make a kill.   
And for a moment he isn’t sure anymore, what is reality now. The laughter, the taunting - or the blood and death and wicked grins that make his skin crawl. He suddenly thinks of Teuk, of his masters head surely cut from his body by the assassin’s hands. His fists ball, his breathing hitches in his throat and then his eyes look down at the dagger, still on the floor. Jongdae follows his gaze, although he doesn’t move. He just sits there, one hand resting over his stomach and his head tilted back.   
  
“Pick it up.”, he instructs then, hoarse and weak. “It’s your chance to kill me without a fight. One assassin less to be worried about. Come on, Baekhyun. It’s easy to slit my throat. I won’t even try to stop you.”  
The dagger glints up at him, silver and pristine. Clean of blood. And he bents, fingers curling around the silver hilt. It’s surprisingly light, cool to the touch. It makes no sound when Baekhyun sets it down on the table beside Jongdae, breathing in slowly. It’s the dagger that killed Teuk. But it’s the dagger that killed Jongdae’s companion in the desert too - instead of killing Baekhyun.  It feels heavy now, the knowledge. The memory he tried to bury. Their roles are reversed, suddenly. Jongdae, wounded and unable to fight back, while Baekhyun holds the power.  It used to be different, seven years ago. The decision is easy, when he finally looks back at the man sitting by the table, blue meeting black. Perhaps he already made that choice, back on the market. 

Because whatever this is - even though he doesn’t understand it - but he can’t move. 

And it makes his skin crawl. 

 

“What you said about Heechul.”, Baekhyun says around a mouth full of apple and millet gruel. Jongdae looks up from where he’s pushing the gruel around in his bowl, eyebrows raised in his pale face. And even though the color is back in his face today, he’s still paler than Baekhyun himself.  Now he understands why they say, the brotherhood has no colors.   
“What about it?”, Jongdae asks back, silently and then hesitantly lifts his spoon to his lips. If Baekhyun knew him any better, he’d probably tease him about it. About the way his face contorts in a grimace when he finally closes his lips around the spoon and chews his meal.   
“Did he do this to you?”, he inquires instead, gesturing with his spoon in Jongdae’s general direction and then taking a bite of his apple again. Jongdae gives him a look then, lips pursing - and really, it’s weird how civilized they are, how easy it is to talk to each other like this, over a simple meal and the beer Jongdae brought with him from the market. How the assassin managed to climb out of the roof this morning is beyond Baekhyun, but he sure isn’t going to complain. Not when his stomach is grumbling and even the tasteless millet feels like a feast worthy of a king to him.   
“No.”, Jongdae answers him, dryly. “You did.”  
“Excuse me.”, Baekhyun grunts out, tempted to throw his apple into Jongdae’s almost-smug face. “I wasn’t out there to stab you. Again, I mean. I was asleep.”  
“Nobody stabbed me, except for you.”, Jongdae simpers back at him and Baekhyun lifts the apple. Jongdae just raises an eyebrow, one side of his mouth curling upwards. It makes him eerily young, grinning like that. Carefree, almost. Baekhyun’s used to him being silent and stoic, normally. He’s grown used to him being closed off and taciturn. Not this - not joking and pulling Baekhyun’s leg over bowls of lukewarm millet gruel. Instead of pushing the matter, Baekhyun just looks right back at him, mirroring the raised eyebrow, until Jongdae says: “I ripped the wound open, trying to get away from them.”

“And you call yourself a master assassin.”, Baekhyun scoffs into his bowl, only for Jongdae to click his tongue. For a heartbeat, Baekhyun expects a kick to his leg, like friends would kick each other underneath the table while a master gives them a lecture. But the kick never comes and Jongdae doesn’t say anything else. So he keeps talking. Mindlessly, carelessly.   
“So that means they’re looking for me. Correct me, if I’m wrong. If they followed you and you saw Heechul, that means my brothers think I’m still alive and they probably think you’re keeping me as a hostage of sorts, right?”  
“If you think so, Baekhyun.”, Jongdae smiles, but it’s hollow. It’s a wall between them and Baekhyun feels his lips curl in disdain. “Are they looking for me, or not?”  
“I don’t know if they are.”, comes the slow answer, after several hesitant, disgusted spoons of gruel. “They’re looking for me. And now they know I’m wounded and still inside the city walls. I think Heechul couldn’t care less if you’re still alive, or not.”  
  
It’s not as if Baekhyun doesn’t know, but Jongdae’s words sting under his skin like thorns. 

And he lashes out on instinct, not caring if his voice snaps and his fingers clench so hard around his wooden spoon it’s starting to crack dangerously.   
“You assassins have no one who cares for you. You wouldn’t understand. Nobody is waiting for you to come back home.”   
Jongdae just looks at him, dark eyes alight with something Baekhyun doesn’t like. It’s an answer to his vile words, spat with such vigor, Baekhyun would be ashamed if Teuk ever heard him speaking like that. Jongdae contemplates him for an endless minute, millet dripping off his spoon and back into his bowl. Then he shakes his head and resumes eating, tongue brushing over his bottom lip, only for him to shudder when he catches some of the cold gruel.   
“You know everything, little soldier. Why should I correct someone, who won’t listen to a different opinion?”, Jongdae says after a beat of silence and spoons scraping through their bowls and he sounds so amused, Baekhyun wants to smack him. “Try me.”  
And then Jongdae is looking at him again, with this questioning gaze that feels too heavy on Baekhyun’s shoulders. He’s sizing him up, studying him as if he wants to look into Baekhyun’s head, his mind, his soul. Perhaps he can, he thinks to himself and then Jongdae turns his eyes away, a hand brushing through his pitch black hair. It flows like ink across his knuckles, white as chalk.   
“Why would I? You think you know me, know who and what I am. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, that there are people waiting for my return. People I care about.”, he shrugs and finally sets his spoon down, apparently giving up on trying to enjoy his meal. His bowl is still half full. Baekhyun’s own is empty. The apple feels like dead weight in his hand.   
What  _ if  _ there is someone waiting for Jongdae to return home? Baekhyun wouldn’t know - aside from Jongdae’s name, he knows nothing. He’s a murderer, a member of the brotherhood of the dead gods, worshipping death and destruction, yes. Those are things Baekhyun knows and accepts, keeps telling himself to not see Jongdae as a man - human. What if there is someone waiting, praying for Jongdae to come back alive? A family perhaps? Mother, father, lover? He doesn’t know, he never will.  It would shape Jongdae into something Baekhyun can’t handle. A normal man. 

Not simply a murderer, sent to cut heads off shoulders, to slit throats. 

Because if it were true, then Jongdae would have a reason to fight. A reason, bigger than just the creed. He can’t think about it, not now. Not when it goes against everything he was taught his entire life.   
“I wouldn’t believe you, no.”, Baekhyun decides loudly and Jongdae looks amused again, as if he wants to laugh but holds back, only the corners of his mouth lifting. Or they are perpetually stuck in a smile, Baekhyun isn’t sure anymore.   
“Of course not, Baekhyun.”  
  
And suddenly, he hates the way Jongdae says his name.


	5. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm way too eager to finally post this story to wait until Sunday hah...  
> Thank you all for the kudos and the super SUPER nice comments!!! I actually think my beta reader enjoyed them even more than I did, she even read them out loud to me on the phone lmao. The cat enjoyed her treats as well <3
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter!  
> It's a lot of explaining and talking, so hang on!

Jongdae’s looking up at the skylight with a frown so deep, it overshadows even the smile stuck on his lips. His arms are crossed, biceps bulging and muscles straining underneath smooth, scarred skin, but his body is still angled weirdly, even two days after he came back bleeding and almost dying.  There’s water dripping through the ceiling, dampening Jongdae’s shirt and hair and Baekhyun furrows his eyebrows at him, leaned against the door of the only bedroom.   
“What’s with that face?”, he asks and Jongdae flinches, as if he forgot Baekhyun is there with him. It’s their fifth day together and yet the assassin seems to constantly be startled by his sudden presence, by him speaking to him without spitting curses and attacks. 

“It’s raining.”

Baekhyun feels as if he wants to hit him, wants to groan and throw his hands up. It’s frustrating beyond belief to talk so Jongdae sometimes, what with him being tight-lipped and cryptical as ever.   
“I can see that.”, Baekhyun gives back, stressing and pointedly looking up at the skylight. Jongdae purses his lips. “I have to get through the desert, before the storms come.”  
“Oh, so the brotherhood is far away, isn’t it? Across the desert? Which direction?”  
The other man opens his mouth already, but then snaps it shut again, turning his head to glare at Baekhyun. But there is something close to humor in his eyes too, although his face is closed off and void of emotion when he drawls: “Nice try there. If I told you where the brotherhood is, I’d have to kill you.”  
“That’s such an old threat.” Waving a hand at Jongdae, as if he’s brushing the words away, Baekhyun cocks his hip to the side, asserting the assassin with a long, studying glance. “So?”  
Something weird happens, then. There are several emotions flickering over Jongdae’s normally stoic face - first contemplation, then confusion and then, finally, it morphs into something Baekhyun is more familiar with. Nothingness.   
“The order has locked down the city gates. I can’t climb the walls.”, he answers, carefully, patting his side only to wince and glower down at his own body. It would be funny, really, if Baekhyun would feel like laughing.   
“That means you’re either stuck here for another month, or you manage to kill the guards.”  
“Or I bribe them.”, Jongdae shrugs and then starts his ascend up the wall, just like Baekhyun is used to. But he’s slower, almost clumsy. Baekhyun could as well be hanging off his legs, he’s so slow.   
There is an audible huff as soon as Jongdae manages to pull himself through the skylight, disappearing and suddenly Baekhyun thinks that if Jongdae chooses to fight, he’ll die.   
He’s nowhere near recovered enough to take on several people at once. It should have been evident to Baekhyun for a long time, if he is being honest. Jongdae chose to run when he came back to the house, two days ago. He didn’t fight, even though he did before. The night he took Baekhyun with him, he killed so many people single-handedly - but now things have changed. He’s not the reason, Baekhyun realizes. Jongdae never tried to get him to spill the orders secrets. It’s his own, human body. And Baekhyun doesn’t like where this is going. He just doesn’t understand why.   
  
  
“Are you serious?”  
“Seems like I am, doesn’t it?”, Jongdae shoots back over his shoulder to where Baekhyun is sitting, hands tied together tightly in front of him, legs crossed at the ankles and his face furious.   
“You _can’t_ be serious. Do you think I’ll run?”  
Jongdae doesn’t answer, just turns enough to raise his eyebrows at Baekhyun so high, they nearly vanish underneath the soft hair falling into his forehead. The soldier freezes, lips thinning and Jongdae looks away again, pulling at the wooden boards barricading the door. They give, little by little. It’s the third board he is ripping out of the wall, the nails clattering to the floor by his feet noisily.   
“You would.”, he tells Baekhyun, silently, even though their conversation seems to have stopped. Baekhyun stays silent, but Jongdae can hear him breathing out in annoyance.   
It’s still weird to him, how they fall into conversations and out of them again - into claws and fangs and then banter that feels too familiar. It’s a bond he plans on cutting tonight.   
“Come on.”, Jongdae says after the last plank clatters to the ground and the door swings open, letting in cold air, pregnant with the promise of rain. He reaches out for Baekhyun, pulling him off the chair by the ropes around his wrists, pushing him towards the door with a hand between his shoulder blades.  
“What if anybody sees?”  
“It’s close to midnight.”, Jongdae replies easily, keeping his hand where it is, gripping onto the fabric of Baekhyun’s tunic tightly. To keep him from running, Jongdae tells himself with a shake of his head. For no other reason. It’s answer enough for Baekhyun to keep quiet as the door of the safehouse finally swings shut behind them and it’s as if the night embraces them like old friends, hugging them close into the shadows. Shadows that feel safer than the house.   
The confined space was pressing the air out of him, Jongdae tells himself. Too close to his enemy, pushing them together in a way that had Jongdae’s guts churning constantly, robbing him of sleep.   
It’s the only reason he breathes out a sigh of relief. The only reason he pushes Baekhyun a little faster, dipping in and out of alleys and streets. It’s not far to the gate, but it feels like an eternity.   
Baekhyun’s all too willing to go, not even once trying to turn and attack him and maybe he’s just as relieved as Jongdae to finally be out of the house, to breathe fresh air. Taste freedom.   
  
He was a prisoner, after all. Hostage to the very thing he grew up to hunt. 

“So what’s the plan?”, Baekhyun asks silently, while Jongdae presses him against a wall lightly, peeking around a corner to where they can see the torches burning on either side of the small side gate only the soldiers use to enter and leave. “Fight them?”   
“Kind of.”, Jongdae whispers back at him, shooting him a quick look before he lays a finger against his own lips, signaling him to be quiet. There is no need for Baekhyun to be quiet though. They should recognize him as a son of the sun, a brother in arms. Not the enemy they should fight.   
Jongdae knows better than that. He heard them talk, knows the orders they’ve been given. Orders from a man, far more cunning than Jongdae ever thought a son of the sun could be.   
“Come on.”, Jongdae mutters then, ripping himself away from his own thoughts violently, gripping Baekhyun’s shoulder tightly to push him out into the street rather forcefully. The soldier emits a soft noise of surprise, frozen just inside the edge of light that falls from the torches, painting deep shadows over the alleys surrounding the gate.   
“You there!”, one of the guards calls out, voice bellowing through the night, full bodied. He’s older than the two other men by his side, a gray streak running through his thick beard. “Halt!”  
  
“I caught the traitor!”

Jongdae knows Baekhyun understands, now.   
His shoulders draw upwards, he’s breathing in deeply and his eyes are searching for Jongdae’s across his shoulder, a confused crease between his eyebrows, despite the realization dawning on his features. He’s being sold. The bribe.   
“The man Lord Heechul is looking for.”, Jongdae simply adds on, giving Baekhyun a shove, hand pressing hard into the small of his back. Not quite letting him stumble, keeping him close enough to be outside of the light. He pulls at the shadows, darkens them around his body, steadies his breathing.  Almost there.  
“You sure you have the right one there, lad?”, the bearded guard asks loudly, taking a couple of steps towards them, torch in hand to shine the fire onto Baekhyun’s face, who squints angrily into the flames.   
Jongdae keeps his ground, shifting his weight onto the balls of his feet, but doesn’t turn his face away.   
“Yes. I’m sure.”   
There’s a moment of silence, the two guards by the door shifting uneasily, then the bearded one lowers his torch with a grunt. “Seems like it. You a bounty hunter, lad?”  
“No, Sir.”, Jongdae smiles silently, reaching for his dagger. “Just a man who values the safety of this city. And a little money on the side never hurts, does it?”  
He falls so easily into his role, thickening his accent and slurring his words, it’s almost as if he’s drunk. The guard doesn’t even spare him a glance, just waves a hand over his shoulder towards his companions.   
“Go fetch the Lord for me, will you?”  
Sudden fear curls inside Jongdae’s stomach. Hot and cold at the same time. If the guard can  _ fetch  _ Lord Heechul, he’s close by. He’s not strong enough yet to fight a son of the sun - let alone his guard, if he brought more soldiers with him out into the night to search for both the assassin and Baekhyun.   
“What did he do, this one?”, Jongdae asks, trying to slow down his racing thoughts, hand gripping Baekhyun’s neck to hard, he hears the other growl in anger. He could make a run for it. 

Leave Baekhyun at their mercy and run. 

It was the plan all along - he just hadn’t counted on Heechul being out, searching.   
It makes things complicated and Jongdae loathes the thought. Complicated means, he didn’t think this through properly. He’s interrupted by the man taking another step forward, the fire blinding him.  Now or never. Swim or drown.   
He grits his teeth, pushing Baekhyun to the side so hard, he hears the other hit the floor with a muffled yelp, but he can’t look. It’s an urge that’s foreign to him, making sure Baekhyun didn’t get hurt.   
The urge to care for someone else, even while he’s pulling his dagger from its scabbard, painting a silver circle through the air and then a red line over the guard’s throat.  For a few frantic heartbeats, nothing happens.  
The guard stares, eyes wide and hand lifting to clutch at his throat, gurgling for air even while his mouth only foams with blood. The other guard yells in shock, but Jongdae’s faster.   
He’s injured, not stupid. The dagger tips in his hand, falling from his fingers, caught just by the tip. It sings as it slices through the air, hitting the second man in the chest, punching through his leather armor and sinking into his ribs. There’s enough force behind the throw to knock him off his feet, helmet rolling into the sand. And yet Jongdae groans too, clutching at his hip, features twisted.   
“Fuck.”, he hisses, lifting his hand from his stomach to see if he’s bleeding. His hand comes away dry and clean, but his whole body is protesting. The night falls silent again.   
And he knows this is his moment, his chance to make it out of this damned city - to vanish into the night and never return. To never set foot into this damned city ever again, if only he can help it.   
But something pulls him to the side, away from the door and he doesn’t even register what he’s doing, before he’s pulling Baekhyun to his feet, making sure he’s steady on his feet before a knee hits him in the crotch.   
“You sold me! I can’t believe you!”  
“You-”, Jongdae wheezes, ducking away from the other. “Were the distraction.”  
“Thank you for risking my life.”, Baekhyun says so forcefully, his voice is breaking. “Once a liar, always a liar. You have what you wanted. Go.”  
“You better keep your mouth in check.”, Jongdae gives back with a growl, straightening and pulling Baekhyun close with a hand around his collar. “I could still change my mind and kill you.”

He knows he won’t. 

It wouldn’t be an even fight. 

“Go.”, Baekhyun tells him again and if Jongdae didn’t know better, he sounds hurt. As if he hadn’t expected Jongdae to sell him out just like this. Foolish little soldier.   
And Jongdae steps away from him, their eyes still locked in this stare they always share. It’s different this time. It’s as if they’re trying to say something like this, looking at each other. For one last, final time. Not enemies but equals of sorts. A bond formed out of need, nothing else.  Jongdae knows it’s a lie and yet he needs this lie to keep him sane. He spent too long in this tiny house, locked up with his own doubts and those feelings he doesn’t dare to understand.   
“Go home, Baekhyun.”; he whispers, before he pivots on his heel and runs. The knowledge of Baekhyun watching him feels like a shard of glass between his ribs.   
  
  
He hears them coming.   
Three or four people, sprinting down one of the streets, clad in heavy armor.   
His hands are bound, he’s tired and strung too tight, eyes strill trained at the open door leading out into the desert surrounding the city. The night out there looks crystal clear, while Baekhyun feels as if he’s standing in the middle of a thundercloud.  Heechul is the second man sliding to a stop just at the edge of the street, breathing rapidly and face lit with something Baekhyun hoped he would never see on a brothers face.   
  
Rage, the intent to kill. 

“There you are.”, Heechul’s voice whips through the night and only then does look Baekhyun fully look at him. He looks frazzled, hair a mess and cheeks hollow. As if he didn’t sleep since the night Teuk died. “You traitor.”  
“I didn’t betray the order, Heechul.”, Baekhyun tells him quietly, shifting where he stands. “Why do you call me a traitor? What reason did you make up to call me that?”  
He expects everything, but not the laughter that echoes through the streets, down the narrow alleys between chalk white walls.   
“Get reinforcements.”, Heechul instructs the three men following him, holding out a hand when one of them steps forward in Baekhyun’s direction. “The assassin could still be close. I can handle him alone. Go get more men and search the area. I’m sure they’re working together.”  
So that’s it, Baekhyun thinks with a smile that is too grim on his lips, unfamiliar in his face. That’s the lie hanging between them.   
“Do you think he would have tied me up and let me here like that, if we worked together?”, Baekhyun asks loudly, but Heechul doesn’t even look like him. There’s a heavy pause while his brother watches the guards disappear - and then he turns. It’s not just his body that turns, it’s his entire face.  It’s pale in the light of the moon and even the fire, his eyes too dark in their hollow sockets.   
“I don’t care if you really worked together, or not.”, the other son of the sun mutters, almost conversationally. He takes a couple of light steps in his direction, hand resting on the hilt of his sword.   
“Nobody will ask. You don’t matter, Baekhyun. You never mattered to anybody in the order.”  
“I mattered to Teuk.”, Baekhyun replies, shifting again and inwardly cursing Jongdae for not cutting his ropes open. He knows something is wrong. And Jongdae’s words echo inside his mind, a seed of doubt that grew too much for his liking. This is not a loving brother stricken with grief. It’s Heechul looking at him like he always did. Baekhyun just never saw it with open eyes. 

Now he does. 

“You shouldn’t have.” Heechul’s answer is barely audible over the sound of scraping metal.   
Baekhyun just smiles when the sword comes down. He fought Jongdae, he tells himself while he tries to side-step the hit. He managed to survive against an assassin. Better trained, a grim reaper amongst men. Heechul might be a warrior, but he’s not a killer.  But Baekhyun’s hands are bound, throwing him off balance when he misses a step, his body tipping to the side dangerously and making him stumble. It’s enough for Heechul to turn again, the range of his sword enough to cut up Baekhyun’s thigh. At first he doesn’t even register the pain, only feels something hot and wet run down his leg and then he cries out, his leg giving out underneath him.  Heechul catches him before he hits the ground, twisting his hand into the fabric of his tunic and pulling until he stumbles the other way, falling into his brother’s waiting sword. It barely scrapes across his hip, missing his flesh by only a breath.   
“I should have executed you with my own two hands, back then.”, Heechul whispers into his face and Baekhyun jerks his head away, squinting in defiance - a feeling so new to him, it shocks him into silence. “If Teuk hadn’t taken you under his wing, he might be still alive.”  
“They would have come to kill him either way.”, Baekhyun tosses back, but it’s clear Heechul isn’t even listening to him. His eyes are ablaze with hatred, dark with the white that glosses over the irises - it gives Baekhyun pause. His brother’s eyes used to be so brilliantly blue, they could have put the sky to shame. They’re not, not right now.   
“I’m going to enjoy ripping you to shreds,  _ brother.”,  _ Heechul croaks and Baekhyun can do nothing but stare and wait, caught with his hands bound between them and his leg trembling so hard, he can barely stay upright on his own accord. It’s Heechul’s hand holding him and he hates it.  He hates being weak and at someone else’s mercy.  It’s the sound of wet flesh parting that makes him gasp, waiting for the pain to set in like it had with his leg. And yet it’s Heechul’s body convulsing in startled agony, the tip of a cruelly curved dagger protruding from his chest - pushing through the leather of his chestplate right above his heart.   
“He’s mine to kill.”, Jongdae whispers hoarsely, lips barely brushing Heechul’s ear. Their eyes meet, frantic and questioning and Jongdae looks just as shocked and confused as Baekhyun feels.   
His eyes are wide, swimming with turmoil. His dagger drips blood into the sand between them, into the heavy silence. 

“Go.”

This time it’s Baekhyun saying it. It’s silent, barely there. But Jongdae seems to hear it, his mouth opening and closing. He doesn’t move, though. And Baekhyun realizes he’s searching his face, this look in his eyes that is almost desperate. He doesn’t know why, doesn’t dare to ask. It’s over before his brain can catch up, Jongdae breaking away from him and turning back into the night. “Remember you’re mine to kill.”, Baekhyun thinks he hears, even though his heart is pounding so loudly, he isn’t sure if he imagined it all. Heechul’s unmoving body on the sand says otherwise.   
  
  
On the horizon, there is a looming shadow. Clouds of sand and destruction, rolling across the desert dunes with a vengeance, swallowing the little bit of hope Jongdae felt blooming in his chest, when he saw the distant ruins that mark half the distance of his journey. They thunder across the white of the sand, even swallow the sun. He would be relieved, if the sandstorms didn’t mean death right now. He’s stumbling more than he is walking, his waterskin emptied only after one day. The wound on his hip throbs in protest when he slides down a dune, rolling gracelessly into the sand. Why not just stay here, a bitter voice in his head whispers into his ear and Jongdae groans, hiding his face between his arms to block out the glaring sun. If only for a few, blissful moments. 

“Jongdae.”, a quiet voice whispers into his ear and he shifts on the sand, feeling the grains rip into his sunburned skin. There’s a touch to his neck, cold and wet and he catches himself whimpering, a shudder running down his spine.   
He turns his face into the fingers running over his ear, squinting against the glare of the sun. She’s there, long black hair braided skillfully across her head and falling in soft curls around her slim, white face.   
Smiling. He never saw her smiling before. 

“I knew you’d return to me, one day.”, she smiles down at him, leaning just close enough so he can see the sky shimmering through her neck, catch the rolling storm in his peripheral vision.   
“You’re not real.”, he croaks out, but the touch to his neck feels all too real, feels all too cold and welcome in this unforgiving heat. He’s peeling apart like a snake under the desert sky.   
“I’m as real as I ever was.”, the mirage answers him, still smiling and finally he pulls away, pushing himself to his feet. He falls against the dune once, twice, stumbling through the small valley between two hills that move with the pending storm.   
“Where are you going?”, she calls after him and Jongdae prays he can keep his feet moving.   
Just long enough for the desert guards to spot him. Just long enough so he doesn’t sink into her embrace and accept the punishment of his cruel mistress.  
  
  
It was a mistake, going back there.  
He knew it, even while his body was turning around, back towards the city gate.   
Why, he asks himself while he staggers through the sand, shielding his face against the whipping winds. Why did he go back? There was no reason to do it - to run back and save Baekhyun.   
Save him again, he corrects himself mentally and winces upon the realization. It was easy to justify himself, before. Now, it’s not anymore. Baekhyun wasn’t his mission, but Heechul wasn’t either. He killed a man, not because he had to defend himself, but because he wanted to. Because he knew Baekhyun could never win against a man like Heechul. 

A warrior, unlike Baekhyun himself.   
It felt like someone wrapped a rope around his wrists, like he did to his prisoner, his bargaining chip.   
And Baekhyun’s cry of anguish was the person yanking Jongdae back into the city, back towards Baekhyun.   
Too long inside this house, he chides himself. Too soft.   
Each step he takes feels like hell and salvation at the same time - step after step, he brings more distance between himself and this damned order, this damned blue eyed bastard, who twists his head around again and again. It’s his punishment, Jongdae thinks grimly while falling to his knees again, the thunderstorm wrapping its arms around him tightly. His punishment for not listening to his orders. He can’t go on anymore.   
  
  
“Come here, my little boy.”, Taeyeon croons into his ear, her sandy fingers gripping tightly onto his chin and Jongdae grunts when he rolls over on the dune, almost slipping down the side. His muscles are sore, he’s on fire. He’s drinking his own blood, cracked lips nothing but raw skin and flesh underneath. He’s so close and yet so far away, the sky pinking above him as her fingers of fog and scintillating heat turn him around onto his back. She’s leaning over him, the tip of her long braid skirting across his splintering collarbone and Jongdae wishes he could pull away from her touch, become one with the sand under his flayed back. He’s falling apart, under his fingertips.   
“You’re not real.”, he tells her once again, but she only smiles. Her lips are pale, like the tops of the peaches she always tasted like when she kissed him, her eyes the color of deep ebony - deep like the night as the light faded from them. “I killed you.”  
“You could never kill me.”, she mutters, so softly it’s like wind brushing through her hair. Her fingers dance - down, down, down his sternum. Over the runes and symbols she carved into his skin on a dune just like this. He thought he’d die, back then. Thought she’d kill him.   
“I’m alive as long as you think of me, boy.” Her lips press against his eyelids, closing them shut against the gentle light of the rising sun. “You could never forget me, either.”  
Her fingers run through his hair, like they did countless of times ever since Jongdae was nothing but a thirteen year old boy. Ten years ago, the world seemed so different. She seemed so different.   
His mistress, his beacon of light. The savior he never asked for.   
“My dear, dear Jongdae.”, Taeyeon whispers above him and her fingers run down over his forehead, taking away skin from his bone.   
“Poor little boy. Impassive, heartless, cruel Jongdae. I created you so well. So, so well. My wonderful boy.”  
Those words always were like poison, dripping so sweetly off her lips and onto his own. He drank them up, back then. So eager for her approval. Until he was not anymore. No more eagerness, no more longing for her. She was the whip on his back, the nightmare of his waking hours. The snake in his bed. Still his hands wandered, his thoughts lingered. He was nothing but a boy back then, blinded by physical needs, addicted to what she gave him.   
“Mirage.”, Jongdae grits out over a swollen tongue, flooding his mouth with more blood from his cracked lips, tasting the salt and feeling the sand between his teeth. “I need to get out of the heat. I’m going mad.”  
“Tell yourself that.”, Taeyeon laughs above him and her voice is a tinkling as ever. Always so silvery addictive. “But believe it, too. Aren’t you here to join me? Come join me, Jongdae. The desert bed you made me feels so empty without you next to me.”  
He nearly screams when he pushes himself up onto his knees, his muscles protesting loudly and he dry heaves, throat constricting around nothing. He’s parched, dying of thirst and the sun burning him up, until there will be nothing left of him but sand. Like Taeyeon’s bones, he left behind. Gone with the wind, one with the desert. Home in the lap of their gods, dead and gone and forgotten. 

If only it were true. 

“Jongdae.”, Taeyeon calls his name behind him when he tumbles forward and back onto his knees. “Where are you going? This is not the way home.”  
He keeps going, for as long as he can. Ignoring her voice, ignoring the jittering silhouettes of her body against the white and blue of the desert and the sky. It’s silent, when he finally collapses onto his stomach, eyelids fluttering and the sun beginning to set again. Two days in the desert. He should be so close. He got lost, Jongdae thinks with a laugh that tastes like lemons on his tongue. Lost in his thoughts, lost in memories he buried with the body of his mistress. Maybe he should have buried Baekhyun too. Right next to her.   
“Desert storms and healing mother, don’t act like dead weight.”, a gruff voice spits into his ear and Jongdae sighs, almost in annoyance. There was blissful silence - in his head, around him in the desert - now broken by the huffing that is too close to his ear to be comfortable.   
“I got you.”, the voice tells him sharply and Jongdae feels something shift underneath his body. It’s warm and soft, not hot and painful like the sand underneath his body. Sand that crusts his eyes shut, seals his lips with the blood and the skin he chewed up. “I got you, brother.  
  
  
The water is blue against the pale of his skin, translucent even when it glows between the hollows of his palms.   
It burns on his body, nipping at the dirt and bruises, the cuts across his thigh and ribs. He’s gotten hurt before, but the water never burned him.   
“Stop thinking so hard.”, Junmyeon quips behind him and Baekhyun sputters, when the healer uphends a bucket over his head, drenching his hair. “You’re going to hurt yourself, if you do.”  
“How did you know I was thinking?”, Baekhyun asks loudly, almost turning around to face his friend, when the other grips him by the neck tightly, holding him still where he’s leaned against the edge of the healing water bath. He’s clicking his tongue, like a mother chiding her child and Baekhyun feels his cheeks heat. He’s not supposed to move inside the water, the light around his upper body flickering and dancing like ink dropped into a glass. It settles back around him, soothing as warm oil.  But it burns.   
“Your silence is never a good sign. So you must be thinking.”, Junmyeon explains, a little too riant and Baekhyun frowns down at his blurry reflection. “Care to share?”  
“No.”, Baekhyun answers instantly and Junmyeon breathes out a sigh. It doesn’t sound annoyed. It’s disappointed, almost. As if Junmyeon is waiting for him to say something Baekhyun doesn’t even know he’s supposed to share.  
“Aren’t you going to ask me, where I was? If it’s true that I killed Heechul and conspired against Teuk?”, he eventually whispers into the darkness of the healing chambers, watching the blue and turquoise of the waters light reflected off the mosaic walls. Junmyeon behind him hums, but says nothing, busy washing Baekhyun’s hair with careful, gentle fingers.   
“Or if it’s true that the assassin captured me and tortured me and Heechul died a heroic death, trying to save me?”  
The bucket is emptied above his head again, blue sloshing across his vision in a cascade of lavender and bittersweet sandalwood. It burns in his eyes, in his nose and on his lips.   
“Why should I ask you about all of this, Baekhyun?”, Junmyeon replies tenderly, fingers digging hard into the sore muscles on his back, up his shoulders and along his spine. He would sigh, if he could. But the water burns, it burns his throat. And all sound is stuck with the feeling of it.   
“I know.”, the healer tells him, as if he knows Baekhyun won’t answer. Will never answer, if the water eats him up alive. The stitches of darkness along his ribs fall away into the bath and vanish, sizzling softly in the sloshing silence between them. “I know you didn’t conspire against the order, Baekhyun. But do they know? Would they understand, if you told them the truth?”   
“The truth about what?”, Baekhyun inquires weakly and Junmyeon sighs yet again. 

“Heechul. What he would have done to you. What he did to you, ever since your old master died.”  
There’s nothing to say, he wants to answer his friend, but the fingers massaging deeply into the bruises on his arms keep him quiet. It’s not the way the water swirls around the last specks of black, running down his skin. It’s washing away the last of these five days. Eating it, like it’s eating Baekhyun.  Heechul was his brother, sworn by a blood oath that bound them together, tighter than family. He loved Baekhyun, as much as he despised him too. Heechul did. 

He  _ knows  _ it. 

It was the loss of their master, their father, that drove him mad.   
“He always thought you’re taking Teuk from him, didn’t he?”, Junmyeon presses, taking Baekhyun’s silence as a sign to keep talking and Baekhyun wishes he wouldn’t. Jongdae’s voice is still too loud inside his head, too. “Because Teuk favored you over him. Right? Right. I remember when he beat you up so badly during training, he broke three of your fingers and your cheekbone.”  
“That was an accident. He didn’t know his own strength.”, Baekhyun mutters back and hears the other click his tongue loudly. Reprimanding, contemplating.   
“Sure it was.”, Junmyeon then says, patting the top of Baekhyun’s head as if he’s nothing more than a child. “I doubt it was, but you knew him better than I did. You were blood brothers, after all.”  
They were blood brothers after all.  
It stings so much, Junmyeon might as well have slapped him.   
Blood brothers don’t hold swords to each other’s throat. They don’t hunt each other down, as if they were nothing but animals. Would Heechul have carried him inside, after the fight he had with Jongdae?   
No, Baekhyun, the assassin.   
The name is not important anymore. He’s gone.   
  
“I’m glad he saved you, grasshopper.” Junmyeon shifts behind him, naked toes appearing in Baekhyun’s peripheral vision and then there’s a gentle hand, brushing through his wet, slightly soapy hair. Junmyeon’s touch is light, but it feels heavy. As if he’s touching Baekhyun with words unspoken, instead of with his fingers. “Who, Heechul? He didn’t-”  
“The assassin, Baekhyun.”, the healer interrupts him and he grits his teeth, trying not to think of the countless moments Jongdae cut him off, just like that. “He saved you. One day, I have to thank him for that, little brother. The temple would be awfully silent without you talking my ears off.”  
“Junmyeon, he-”  
“I’m blind, Baekhyun, not deaf. Not dumb.” The fingers vanish and so does the warmth of Junmyeon’s body, leaving him cold and shivering inside the healing water. “And he isn’t the one you had to fear while you were gone.”  
The water feels icy against his skin by the time Junmyeon leaves him to soak in the healing potions and prayer induced bath, his naked feet slapping against the intricate mosaic floors loudly.  
The scar of vow, edged deeply into his palm, looks faint and pale when looks down at it. Perhaps the promises that came with it, were just as pale and faint.   
  
  
“Adept Baekhyun, you’re under probation for now.”, elder Changmin tells him sternly from where he’s sitting in a ray of light, the sun above his head so blinding, Baekhyun can barely make out the Masters form in the midst of the beam falling down onto him. The rest of the room is vacant, the other nine chairs empty in front of him. He’s kneeling with a hand on his heart, the one with the scar balled into a tight fist by his hip.   
His knee is aching on the marble floor, his fingernails bite too hard into his palm.  
“The elder does not believe you were involved in the tragic loss of our friend and brother Teuk, but the passing of your blood brother have to be investigated. Until further notice, you are not to leave the sanctums, but you are free to wander the gardens, if you so wish.”  
“Thank you, elder Changmin.”, he hears his own voice say, even though there is bile rising up his throat. Blood brother. Something that meant so much to him and now just tastes like rotten fruit on his tongue.   
“You may leave.”, Changmin tells him and he sounds almost gentle, even though his voice booms loudly through the circular room.   
“Unless there is something you have to say. Bring light into the events that lead to those unfortunate losses.”

Unfortunate.   
It’s almost as if the elder is talking about losing a favorite piece of jewelry, not two human lives.   
And while there is mourning in his heart for Teuk, the thoughts he has for Heechul, are far from tender.   
The image of the other’s sword by his throat, the silver scar on his thigh - they all speak testament of what Heechul truly felt for him.   
“Can I ask a question, elder?”, Baekhyun asks and raises his head, almost shy to look up at the blinding light. Even though the sun is already setting behind the ocean, painting the city and the harbor in myriads of golden colors, the room is too bright for his eyes. As if he’s shying away from it.   
"Go ahead, adept Baekhyun.”, Changmin answers him after a beat of silence and Baekhyun sees a hand gesture inside the curtain of brightness. Beckoning him to speak.   
He hesitates then, biting down on his tongue until it hurts. He could ask about Teuk, about his heritage. Or he could ask about Heechul’s funeral that is to be held as soon as the sun has set and the night falls over the sanctum.   
Instead, after he draws a deep breath, he starts: “I came to know that Zhoumi of the merchants guild, was involved in unsavory business. He was aware that the merchant was a benefactor to the order, but would it not damage our reputation if it became public, what he did?”  
Changmin is silent again, not moving an inch in his chair, but then he sighs and leans forward, so Baekhyun catches sight of his face.   
He looks young, despite his title, soft blond hair braided in his neck and held together by a strip of white silk.   
“You surely mean to say that you gained knowledge of Zhoumi’s preferences. Or am I wrong, young adept?”, the man asks silently and then, after Baekhyun shakes his head, purses his lips and leans back into his chair again. The tip of his shoe taps against the floor once, twice, before he speaks once more. “In times of desperate need, the order has to choose the lesser of two evils. Zhoumi might have gained the wares he sold by using a valuta disapproved by the order, but we were aware of the fact that the people of this city would starve without him.”  
Were it a different time, a different day, perhaps Baekhyun would have understood without questioning the words of his masters, the words of the elder circle. But Jongdae’s voice is loud in his ears, still - the darkening of the assassin’s features when he told Baekhyun of the things the merchant did, how he gained his wealth. And what he did to people, who reached out to him for a better life, a better future.   
His mouth tastes stale, his tongue feels dry and too heavy in his mouth. 

“The order turned a blind eye to merchant Zhoumi selling children into slavery, then.”, Baekhyun states and nearly winces at his own voice. He sounds sharp, annoyed. Six days ago, he would have never talked to one of his masters this way. The wound in his side throbs, as if it approves.   
“For the greater good, sacrifices have to be made.”, Changmin answers and he sounds clipped, all patience and gentleness worn thin in his voice. “Thousands dead, or turn your head away in times of need. What would you choose, adept  
Baekhyun?”  
Not to sell children off as slaves, after purposefully killing their parents with rotten food, Baekhyun wants to reply and he has to bite the inside of his cheek until he tastes copper on his tongue, to keep himself from speaking it out loud.   
“Greater goods sometimes mean to offer a hand to the lesser evil.”, the elder goes on, as if he isn’t expecting Baekhyun to actually answer. “Did you not do the same to stay alive? Offering peace to the murderer who abducted you?” We all have to choose sometimes, young Baekhyun. Teuk made the decision to save you from execution seven years ago and you chose to stay alive by forming a temporary alliance with the man who came to kill your master.”  
It should be the truth - but it’s not. He didn’t offer a hand to Jongdae, nor did he form an alliance with him to prevent his own death. Jongdae was the one reaching out to him, Baekhyun realizes with shock running through his body. For whatever motives, whatever reason,  _ Jongdae  _ kept him alive while Baekhyun fought him with claws and fists. Without him, he would be dead now.   
Fed, healed, ripped out of the reapers arms just the night before.   
Not by the people he trusts and belongs to - no, by the very thing he was taught to fear and hate.   
Jongdae didn’t have to do any of it. Didn’t have to untie Baekhyun and let him sleep in the only bed he had, didn’t have to jeopardize himself by going to the market.   
No, Baekhyun thinks with a violent shake his head. No, Jongdae didn’t do any of it out of kindness.   
There must have been an ulterior motive behind it all and perhaps one day Baekhyun will understand.   
“Is your silence a disagreement?”, Changmin suddenly says and Baekhyun startles out of his thoughts, looking back up at the elder, who studies his face with a look on his features that makes Baekhyun’s insides churn. It’s scrutinizing, searching for something on Baekhyun’s face and he doesn’t know if he can withstand the other man’s gaze without turning his head away. 

“No, of course not, elder Changmin.”, he hurries to say and Changmin raises an eyebrow, still silently watching him. As if he could stare into his soul and see the darkness Jongdae touched within him.   
“You are dismissed now, Baekhyun.”, the elder mutters, but it’s as if he’s deep in thought, even while he’s looking at him.   
Baekhyun hurries to leave, head ducked and shoulders pulled high around his neck.   
  
  
“It was your own darkness.”, Baekhyun whispers while staring at himself in the bronze mirror, studying his own body from head to toe. It’s nearly too dark inside his room, the small chamber lit by only a handful of candles, nearly burning out already. He looks the same, he thinks while sliding a hand over his collarbones, over the shadows they paint in the flickering candlelight. His hand travels down his sternum, over the subtle dips of his pectorals and abdominal muscles. They’re not as defined, but his build is strong. His skin is unmarked, except for the glaring red spot spanning from the edge of his stomach and ending underneath his arm. It’s a straight line, just wide enough for the blade of a dagger to slip in between his bones, not even a hand’s width. It’s such a carefully placed wound. If it weren’t on his own body, Baekhyun would be impressed with the accuracy of it - how precisely the dagger bit into his body, vicious and yet so graceful. Even in the middle of a fight, impaled on Baekhyun’s sword, the assassin’s blade struck him like this.  
His fingers run over the spot, stark red against the white of his skin and he flinches, expects the wound to split open again and hiss at him with swirling shadows. Snakes of darkness, ripping him apart until there is nothing left of him but the darkness. Jongdae must have cursed him, Baekhyun thinks with a shudder and pulls his hand away quickly. He can still feel the ghost touch of the other man’s fingers against his body, constricting him with a hand around his tender throat. The surge of anger that washes over him surprises him, but the fist that punches against the bronze of the mirror happens before he can swallow it down. 

What if he killed Jongdae? 

Would he be dead now, too?   
  
A knock on his door makes him flinch, step away from the mirror as if he’s ashamed for looking at himself. It’s one of the sanctum guards - men and women chosen for their skills and devotion to the order, solely trained to protect what is most holy to them all. The inner sanctum, deep inside the orders heart. The man’s face is concealed by a long veil, falling all the way down his chest, all clad in white. He’s not wearing an armor, none of them ever do. And while Baekhyun himself is adorned in rings and chains, a golden feather dangling from his ear, there are no ornaments on the guard standing before him, looking at him out of eyes so brightly blue, they could as well be white.   
White, Baekhyun thinks with a grimace as he hurries to pull on a simple linen vest. White as Heechul’s eyes, the night he tried to kill him.   
“Elder Changmin sends me to accompany you to the funeral of brother Heechul.”, the guard says, in lieu of a greeting, without bowing or introducing himself. The sanctum guard answers to no one but the elder circle. Once, when Baekhyun was younger, he thought he would be one of them, one day.  Now he doesn’t know if this wish was real. If anything he wanted was real.   
Children, sold. His own masters turning their heads at the people poisoned for the benefit of a greedy man. An assassin, who saves a life, instead of taking it.   
The order preserves, the brotherhood takes. It’s what he learned, all his life. 

“Accompany me, or make sure I don’t try to run?”, Baekhyun asks, despite knowing it’s a bad idea to  speak his mind. What he can see of the guard’s face, stays emotionlessly impassive, eyes still trained on Baekhyun.   
“The circle does not ask you to come.”, he eventually says, speaking slowly was if to make sure Baekhyun catches every single word, ever single double meaning.   
He wants to scowl at the man, curl his lips in disgust, but he manages to keep a straight face and slip on the last of his rings, clinging just delicately to the second knuckle of his pinky. “Lead the way.”  
There is a second sanctum guard, just outside his door, still and unmoving like a statue.   
And suddenly he’s hyper aware of the long, curved swords the sanctum guards wear on their belts, heavily adorned and gleaming in the flickering lights of the torches lining the walls.   
He feels like a prisoner, not a member of the order, hands balling by his sides while he watches the guard who stood by the door turn on her heel and fall into step beside them, her gloved fingers wrapping around the pommel of her Khopesh. It’s a subtle movement, but it’s as if Baekhyun’s eyes are hot wired to the way she holds the sword, ready to unsheath it in a matter of seconds. 

A sanctum guard is strong and skilled enough to cut him into half and Baekhyun swallows hard around the lump in his throat that tastes like bile. He’s an adept of the creed, he tells himself with gritted teeth, not a heathen that needs to be guarded.  Is an assassin saving his life reason enough for them to doubt his loyalty?  Would they need to doubt him, just because he is alive while his master and blood brother have fallen, where he stood unscathed and well? Were the bruises around his neck, the healing cut in his side and his still tender lip not enough proof that Jongdae didn’t treat him like a guest?   
He’s as much a prisoner now, as he was in Jongdae’s house. 

Baekhyun shudders, the shiver of his shoulders drawing the attention of the female sanctum guard, whose steps are barely audible even when she closes up to his side. “It must be hard for you.”  
At first, Baekhyun doesn’t react, his eyes trained intently on the sandstone floor beneath his feet.  But she doesn’t leave him, only cocks her head to the side so the veil in front of her face shifts to the side, sliding over the bridge of her nose. Her eyes are as blue as the sky just after dawn - a snowy, cold color. The dark of Jongdae’s eyes seemed so much more warm to him.   
He catches the thought with a startle, jerking his head back and asks: “What?”  
“The death of your master and brother.”, she clarifies, her tinkling voice sounding like the dripping waters of the healing bath many stories below them.   
“It must be hard on you to know that the man who killed them both got away so easily.”  
It’s not, Baekhyun thinks to himself with a wry smile, nodding once to acknowledge her words. The motion seems to satisfy her as agreement and Baekhyun is glad it does. He should be angry at the assassin. For Teuk’s head, severed cleanly from his shoulders.  Killing Heechul saved Baekhyun’s own life and how could he be angry for this?   
But the absence of hatred inside of him confuses him, makes him bite down so hard on the inside of his cheek, he feels the flesh give way. The little blood that coats his tongue tastes bitter and sour to him, making him press his lips together to try and keep his expression neutral.  Only then does he notice her absence by his side, both of the guards now walking just a step behind him. It’s an odd question, to ask like this and then break their conversation off as if it never happened.  Was it a trap? 

Did they wait for a reaction that wouldn’t add up to his story, would mark him a traitor like he head so many of the order’s members whisper while he passed them. Some don’t even make a secret of their thoughts when he steps out of into the sanctum gardens, sides framed by the guards.  They stare at him with angry eyes, accusing and whispering without even raising their hands to cover their mouths. Baekhyun does nothing to stop them, just raises his chin and wets his lips.   
“The elder circle allows you to watch them from your rightful seat, adept.”, the female guard tells him with a voice so soft, it could be the wind tussling his hair, pushing a hand between his shoulder blades to get him moving a little faster. He feels the fabric of her gloves catch on his tunic, skin cold and prickling where she touches him and he is struck with a memory of the night before, cold and damp like this one. Another hand in his back, pushing him forward. To an equally uncertain fate.  The edge of the water glows with candles and blue traces of the healing waters, whispering gently in the breeze of the ocean, clear as a mirror. It looks black, aside from the flames and blue, so still the moon nearly kisses its own reflection as it hangs low in the sky like a silver coin, chipped and curved.   
“Adept.”, Changmin greets him with a nod of his head and Baekhyun lowers his gaze, bows his shoulders just a hint. There’s a spot waiting for him in between he elders, beside Teuk’s banner.   
It’s stuck in the mud under their feet, the staff crusted over with dirt. 

Dirt from Teuk’s own funeral, with Heechul right in the spot where Baekhyun’s standing now.   
  
“Honor your brother.”, elder Yunho tells him with a snap and Baekhyun nearly winces. “Or would you rather stare at it?”   
“He’s mourning.”, Changmin says silently, a hand on Yunho’s shoulder and the other elder scoffs, turning his head away to where Heechul’s coffin floats just a couple of feet away on the still, black water. Baekhyun knows what the elder is thinking, can see it written all over his features. In the glint of his crystal eyes. He’s a traitor in their eyes, for one reason or the other.  But why would they lust after the blood of one single man, like they do?  
His fingers curl around the staff of Teuk’s banner, pulling it through the mud so he can steady it with the side of his boot, feeling the silk brush against his naked arm. Heechul’s banner still lies in the hands of elder Junsu, folded neatly and waiting to be raised as soon as Heechul’s coffin passes the reflection of the moon and is set on fire.  Isn’t the order the only thing that protects this world against the chaos of the brotherhood?  
Baekhyun watches as the circle of masters standing just where the water begins, slowly let go of the ropes, holding the boat still. It shifts a little, then catches in the drift of the receding tide, slowly drifting away from the silent crowd of staring people. Nothing moves, aside from the wind and the coffin.  
He feels his fingers grow cold. But not because of the wind, the stares and the water brushing against his shoes and wetting through the leather. It’s the cold of his thoughts, spiraling out of control.  
If the order is what Baekhyun was taught his entire life, shouldn’t they preserve every life, assassin or not? Should they be so ready to kill a sworn brother, connected to them by blood?   
His eyes follow the rise of arrows, alight with orange flames. They fly soundlessly, hitting the simple wooden coffin, filled with riches and flowers. It catches fire instantly, the ceremonial oil roaring as its heat rolls across the waters. Baekhyun closes his eyes, not watching as Junsu slowly raises Heechul’s banner, fixing it to the waiting staff.   
When he opens them again, the coffin is tipping to the side, sinking. And there, on the outer edge of the bay, he catches sight of Junmyeon, not looking at the burning body they came to see off, but at Baekhyun. If the order is what Baekhyun was taught his entire life, their eyes should not glaze over with white. 


	6. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains detailed scenes of interrogation and torture! It's perhaps one of the most cruel chapters in this entire story.  
> I didn't only describe the physical pains and horrors a person goes through during a moment like this, but there is a scene where the character suffers from emotional trauma and hallucinations. 
> 
> It is still one of my favorite chapters of this entire work, since it drives the story forward A LOT and both my beta and I felt like this was the ending of the actual "beginning arch" of the story. With this chapter we're driving deeper into the dynamics of both the order and the brotherhood so bear with me if it gets a little boring, maybe. Also, I might have to mention again: There will be characters dying, sooner or later! 
> 
> Without further ado: Please enjoy this chapter (and the next one, since I'm double updating today lmao)  
> And THANK YOU SO MUCH to all the people leaving comments and kudos! I know authors always complain about just getting kudos, but they mean SO MUCH to me (and my beta too, of course. This story is her baby) since we worked on this for nearly three months! 
> 
> SHOUT OUT TO VikingLord whose comment was read to me on the phone by a very exited beta!   
> I'm sorry I didn't answer any of the comments just yet, I was swamped and MIA.

Jongdae wakes to the soft kiss of water against his cheek, rolling down the side of his head and into his hair. It’s startlingly cold, I jostling him awake and yet he keeps his eyes closed, drawing in a deep breath. The rivulets of water stop, only for a wet cloth to press against his temple, smoothing over his skin. Another drop seeps into his hair and Jongdae lets out the breath he just took, slowly exhaling through his open mouth. His lips still feel dry, his tongue like paper when he runs it across them.  The cloth instantly pushes against his tongue, wetting his lips and he lets his jaw fall open, water flowing into his mouth, sweet and clear.   
“There.”, a lilting voice says next to him and he turns his head towards it, as if searching. Rippling water, sloshing against something that sounds like wood. The cloth returning to his lips and pressing moisture into his mouth, enough for him to swallow. He groans when it burns down his throat and the voice mutters: “Slow. You’re parched.”  
After the cloth wipes down his face again, this time dipping into the line of his neck and over the top of his chest, he opens his eyes. They sting, dry and crusted at the corners.  
At first he sees nothing but darkness, then everything flashes into view. A high ceiling above him, painted with blues and reds, specks of gold left of former glory. There’s no canopy, no bedposts.   
But the walls are lined with thick carpets, shelves of scrolls and seals crowd together along the wall that isn’t curving in on itself, flowing over with scripts and thick leather-bound almanachs.   
There are no windows, just pillars so high they are shrouded in shadows where they meet the ceiling.  It’s a room deep inside the temple, Jongdae realizes when his eyes travel over the braziers, occasionally dotting the chaos of shelves and reading tables.  One of the rooms reserved for those, born anew by the gods. 

“Here.”, says the voice suddenly, sounding amused as if the man sitting next to the bed noticed him analyzing his surroundings, a hand sliding underneath his head and into the nape of his neck.   
When he turns, he stops dead in his tracks, head lifted half off of the pillow with the help of the calloused, strong hand holding him up.   
The first thing he sees is a thin, red line painted over the bridge of a nose and across the top of round cheekbones. Little triangles, so perfectly aligned they form an unison that is only broken by runes, etched into the skin and forming  
white scars. The contrast of the scars is stark with the red surrounding them, making the skin surrounding the crimson paint even whiter than it already is.  The second thing, after his eyes travel over the triangles and runes, are a pair of black eyes - so black, they seem to suck up space itself, two holes under a black fringe.  The man’s hair is cropped short at the sides, longer on the top where it falls into wide wavy curls.   
Jongdae’s mind reels for a second, then a heartbeat longer that stutters in his chest, when the man presses the wooden bowl of water against his open lips. 

Minseok. 

The name flickers through his head, hot and heavy.  
It’s been years since he last saw the other master - only a shifting black spot against the horizon as he left them, the tracks his feet left on the sand already blowing over with a sandstorm.   
Jongdae remembers, too well.  How it felt watching Minseok walk away from the brotherhood, without the intention of ever returning.  It was a decision given to him by the dead gods themselves after he became one of them.   
Watching Minseok leave, vanishing into the sandstorm, was as if a part of him wanted to leave too, see the world through the eyes of the gods they would become, if only they lived long enough.  
Minseok, the only immortal Jongdae ever saw stepping out of the rows of their brotherhood - a living testament of the power that would one day live inside of Jongdae too. Perhaps it was this very man, who pushed Jongdae forward harder and harder, fueling his will to a point of no return.  And now there he is, holding a bowl of water to Jongdae’s lips, studying his face.   
  
Minseok, one of the few children born into the brotherhood, son to an immortal mother and born with hair as black as the night sky. A living god, no longer a dead one.   
“Instead of staring, you should drink.”, Minseok tells him and his voice is faint as ever. It always felt as if Minseok was speaking from far away, even when Jongdae was nothing but a gangly youngster.   
“You returned.”, Jongdae replies, instead of drinking, pushing the bowl away with aching fingers.  His body feels as if he got skinned alive.   
Looking down at his hand, he thinks he might as well have been. There are blisters along the back of it, bones peeking through the splintered skin of his knuckles, red and angry and painful.   
Minseok watches him, still. He’s silent, but there is something surrounding him that seems to be buzzing, as if Jongdae’s ears are still ringing with the rush of the storm that swallowed him.   
He sits down, slowly and with Minseok’s help, the thin woolen blanket falling from his chest and pooling around his hip. He’s naked underneath, only wrapped in bandages and covered in crusted-over herbal paste.   
“Are you going to tell me I’m lucky to be alive?”, Jongdae asks, looking down at his hands. His chest and stomach are unscathed, just the skin of his collarbones broken open from the heat and sun.   
Minseok makes a small sound, half laughter and half scoff, shaking his head.

“I would be a liar, if I told you that. You’re too far on your path to the godhood to die from a little heat.”  
“I might have suffocated under the sand.”, Jongdae points out and this time, Minseok laughs loudly.   
He shrugs, passing the bowl over into Jongdae’s waiting hands, who lifts it carefully to his lips to take a sip. It doesn’t taste like lilacs or herbs, just water. Clear and cold.   
“That might be true.”, Minseok agrees with a chuckle, leaning back on the chair he dragged up next to the bed, legs crossing at the ankles. “You’re so lucky I came along.”  
Jongdae pauses, shooting Minseok a look. “So it was you, who found me.”  
“Obviously.” The master assassin raises an eyebrow, the red on his cheek shifting with the twitch of his lips. There’s a pause between them, as they size each other up with dark eyes. Then Minseok says:   
“Your young apprentice seems rather fond of you.”

Jongdae exhales, agitated. “Yes.”

“How unfortunate.”

“Is it?”

“I’d say so.”   
  
Minseok cocks his head, black eyes blinking once and Jongdae answers his gaze with a stare of his own. But the living god in front of him doesn’t speak up again, only fixes him with his dead, inky eyes.   
And whatever it is that changed in his face since Jongdae last saw him, it makes him look as if he’s stuck in a state of perpetual amusement, a certain air that makes Jongdae’s skin crawl.   
He doesn’t know what he’s looking at, but it’s no man.  The air constantly moves around Minseok, fibrillating as if he’s sitting in the scalding heat of the afternoon sun.   
As if he’s not really there, a mirage made up by Jongdae’s feverish mind. 

“Why?”, he finally asks, if only to get away from this feeling of his skin shifting, whenever Minseok moves.   
The other man purses his lips, tapping a finger against his knee as if he’s deeply in thought, but the way he looks at Jongdae tells him that he’s waiting for him to answer his own question.   
It’s the look a teacher, perhaps even a god. 

“Because”, Minseok replies then, after Jongdae stays mum. “We all know what’s going to happen.”  
“Do we?”, Jongdae asks right back and Minseok looks humored again, like he knows more than Jongdae can even imagine. He’s scared, he realizes then, when Minseok rakes a hand through his own hair, his fingers disappearing between black locks. But they don’t only comb through strands of black - they  _ vanish, _ as if Minseok is sucking away all the color, all the life around him.  Jongdae is  _ scared.   
_ He’s never been afraid, only ever feared his mistress.  Now though, he feels as if he’s staring at a rattlesnake, while he himself sits there naked, waiting. 

Minseok’s lips stretch, but it’s no smile. It’s a leer so viciously filled with joyless glee, it makes Jongdae shiver visibly. 

“I know.”, Minseok amends his own words, smoothing a hand over his thigh and only then does Jongdae notice that his clothes aren’t made of fabric. They are  _ moving.  _ Grains of black dust, sinking into the lines of Minseok’s body, leather peeking through here and there, just as much as naked skin. He’s dressed in the desert, his collar adorned by raven feathers, dripping with the same black sand. 

“You might not.”

“And how is that?”

Again, Minseok shifts where he sits and he’s still leering, his eyes crinkling. 

“Because Taeyeon told me.”, comes the carefully placed answer and Jongdae feels the blood draining from his face. He feels faint, pale, as if Minseok can see right through him. As if he’s nothing more than fog, shining with too many colors while Minseok sucks them right out of him. “She’s a rather talkative soul, I have to say. Who’s Baekhyun?”  
“And what did she tell you about my apprentice?”, Jongdae answers with a question of his own and Minseok’s smirk dampens into a smile.   
He shrugs, the feathers around his neck brushing across skin that is so pale, Jongdae can see the veins through it, pumping blood. 

“Who knows. Who’s Baekhyun?”

“So you can talk to the dead now.”, Jongdae states with a click of his tongue that sounds rather curiously enlivened. “Is that the reason why you left, or was it the bloodlust that nearly drove you mad?”  
Minseok looks at him, silent. And Jongdae almost thinks the master will lash out at him now, toss him off the bed and strangle him like he’s seen Minseok do, only once. The tight ring of the man’s fingers was powerful, even more than the noose of an executioners rope, breaking a neck with only a press of his hands. It probably is even stronger, now. After the silence, Minseok’s bottom lip trembles - and then suddenly, he’s laughing.   
“Perhaps.”, he shrugs and then reaches out to pat Jongdae’s upper arm. “You’re further along the path than I thought you would be. Now, drink up and get dressed. Tonight I will sleep in my own bed.”  
He stands, the darkness wavering around him before settling back across his skin tightly, shrouding his muscular built.   
“Is it why you left?”, Jongdae calls after him, when Minseok starts walking towards the door, steps light and inaudible. The living god turns his head, soulless eyes meeting Jongdae’s own and then he’s grinning again, reckless and mad. “You’re not ready for that answer just yet, Jongdae. Drink up the stars and perhaps I’ll tell you.  
  
  
The wound on his hip is infected, poisoning his blood with dark lines that run close underneath his skin and are tender to the touch. Jongdae hisses when Seungwan presses him back onto a pillow, chiding him under her breath while she cuts into him with a burning hot knife, Yixing holding down his arms so he doesn’t strike out. And while they rummage around inside of him, twisting and pulling until his darkness bites their fingers bloody, Minseok stands there watching them. He’s like a shadow, melting against the door, arms crossed over his chest. Jongdae thinks perhaps the man is nothing more than a dream, conjured by his mind with the fever that holds him tightly.  
He’s sweating, panting when Seungwan releases him and throws the knife into a bundle of bloody rags. Yixing’s face is hard when he, too, stands and wipes the back of his hand across his forehead.   
“If you want to vanish again like that, please don’t come home half dead.”, he tells Jongdae angrily and he has half the heart to roll his eyes, even while he threatens to pass out once again. 

“And bathe yourself. You stink.”

Seungwan assists him, slipping an arm around his middle to steady him when he finally sinks into the waters of the bath, sighing in both pain and content as the waves tug at the crusting herbal paste, at the fresh stitches in his side and the dirt still clinging to his skin despite Minseok washing him. There’s silence in the baths, only the dripping of water and occasional splash when one of the others washes their hair or runs a hand through the waves around them.   
Somewhere in the twilight of the bathing halls, he can make out Sehun reclining inside an alcove, his sparkling eyes following the swirl or petals that’s washed into the basin through the canal in the wall.  
  
By now, his hair has lost all color and his skin is losing its tan.   
“It’s a good thing master Jaejoong didn’t kill him, isn’t it?”, Seungwan says silently, running tender fingers over the bruises and blisters on Jongdae’s arm and the flinches away from the touch, closing his eyes at the impulse to hit her. They’re gentle, his brothers and sisters, but Jongdae feels raw. Like a trapped animal, ready to snap - bite and tear until everything around him lies in ruins. It’s the same, every time.   
Whenever he returns to the temple, the blood still feeling fresh in his mind, he feels like a beast, stuck in a human skin. It gets worse, worse, worse, with every life he takes.   
“Yes”, he agrees with a curt nod, letting her spread the lather of soap she worked up between her hands into his scalp. “But Jaejoong was always rather fond of him, was he not?”  
“He better be.”, Sehun speaks up from where he sits, a twinkle of reflected sunlight dancing across his face. The newly announced master looks tired but slightly crotchety, thick eyebrows furrowed.   
“It wasn’t him that landed a strike in our duel. I have long surpassed him.”  
“Maybe.”, Jongdae tells him seriously, leaning to the side so Seungwan can help him wash around the wound. “But he is part of the aspirants. Before the new moon, he will rise to the dead god’s sides.”  
Sehun exhales rather harshly at that, but says nothing in return and Jongdae settles deeper into the water, stretching his legs so the cramping muscles can bleed out their tension.   
This feels like home, although his body is tattered and bleeding. The banter, Seungwang’s hands wandering over his body, Sehun’s ebony eyes watching them with curious intention.   
He tries to let the water wash away the memory of those days, cramped into the safehouse - trapped not only by those walls but his own mind as well. And so he closes his eyes, lets his head drop back against the towel Seungwan rolled up into a makeshift pillow, her wet fingers combing through his hair while she hums sweet nothings beside him. He drifts off to the sound of Sehun’s voice, mixing perfectly with the faint murmur of the warm, soothing water.   
“She’s waiting for you, Jongdae.”, Seungwan whispers into his ear, only half breaking through the fog of his sleep. “Talk to her before she loses her mind.”  
  
  
His body is stiff, his leg cramping with each step he takes, even when he leans heavily onto the simple cane he needs to prevent himself from falling over. The wound pulls at his patience whenever his skin pulls taut, muscles shifting even when he tries to walk as little as he can. But this isn’t something he can avoid any longer, not when he’s back in the brotherhood for three days already. It’s the morning of the fourth day, Hangeng keeping a stern hand wrapped around Jongdae’s elbow to help him along. The creed master is silent, but Jongdae can feel his heavy heart, the longer the quiet lasts between them.   
“We thought you were gone.”, Hangeng told him just when he came to collect him, his voice thick with regret. Regret of sending Jongdae off to this mission. “I should have let you recover.”  
“My body is going to heal, master.”, Jongdae tells him, now, into the weight that hangs between them. Hangeng gives him a short, clipped smile.   
“Your body, yes. But the wounds your absence left in the brotherhood will need some time to smooth over.”  
  
He’s talking about Jisoo and Jongdae grimaces. He shouldn’t have to come back to his own apprentice in an arrest cell, chained to a wall because Yixing couldn’t contain her any other way.  
The stairs feel as if they’re trying to rip him apart in the middle. It’s colder with every step he takes, the air slightly wet against his skin, the sound of rushing water loud in his ears. The vaults under the temple are silent - and yet they are filled with so much noise, Jongdae feels as if his head is spinning. Everything feels sticky, down here and Jongdae runs a hand through his slightly too-long hair, feeling the strands stick to his fingers. The shame of having to walk down here is like a ball of hot iron in his guts, burning through his stomach and having his fist clench hard around the cane, when Hangeng lets go of his arm to point the way down a dark, narrow hallway.   
The floor is slippery, wet from condensation and mist, the walls dripping with moisture and spin drift from the thundering, drumming river that gives life to their temple and their oasis.   
There are no doors to the cells, just holes in the walls - so deep they are pitch black even with the little light of the single torch flickering meagerly by the corner. It’s just enough light for Jongdae not to slip and yet he has to steady himself on the rough surface of the wall, when Hangeng stops walking suddenly. The cell in front of them is just a roughly shaped, gaping hole. It seems like the mouth of a beast, breathing and alive and Jongdae can hear the angry screeching of a woman’s voice somewhere in the darkness, muffled by a gag. It’s a dirty rag, Jongdae notices when he rips the torch from its iron ring and steps forward, illuminating Jisoo’s writhing, bucking form on the ground, fighting against the heavy iron chains that are wrapped tightly around her wrists, strapping her down onto the floor. She’s like a wild animal, twisting in on herself and her eyes are crazed when she looks up at him.   
  
But then her face softens, a desperate look slipping over her features and she whines behind the dirty gag in her mouth, her knees scraping bloody across the floor when she tries to crawl towards him.   
He can hear the muffled, crippled word “master” from behind the fabric on her tongue, her eyes filling with tears that leave clean striped down her dirty face. How long was she down here, he wonders as he stares down onto her, hand tightening around the torch.   
“Master.”, Jisoo immediately exclaims when master Hangeng bends down to pull the gag from her mouth, her arms straining with another attempt of getting closer to Jongdae, her eyes wide and filled with desperate relief. “My master- you’re alive! I- they wouldn’t believe me. I told them- I wanted to-”  
“Silence.”, Jongdae says and even though his voice is quiet, it thunders through the room like a cracking whip. Her mouth instantly closes and Jongdae grinds his teeth, nose wrinkling in disdain.   
“You brought shame onto my name, apprentice.”, he tells her hardly and Jisoo cowers where she kneels, her eyes trained on his face even though her head tilts down. “You attacked a master, injured his student when he tried to stop you. You raised your hand not only against a man far above your rank, but a member of the brotherhood. And you expect me to be thankful, for whatever you tried to do?”  
“They told me”, Jisoo sobs and Jongdae watches the thick drops of her tears fall down over her cheeks. “They said you’re lost, master. I wanted to go find you. A new master is unacceptable.”  
“What is _unacceptable.”,_ Jongdae growls and his voice snaps with volume, Jisoo wincing and drawing in on herself, more tears welling over her lashes.   
“Is my apprentice thinking she has better judgement than the masters who are to teach her.”  
“I accept, whatever punishment you decide on.”, she whispers back at him and Jongdae sneers, breathing out harshly before he turns away from her, nearly wobbling when his cane slips across the floor. “We will see about that.”  
“Master!”, she calls out to him when he’s already halfway down the corridor again, her face barely visible in the darkness of her cell. “I knew you’d come back for me.”  
Jongdae doesn’t turn, doesn’t look back at her. He keeps walking, his head as high as he can hold it with his tender skin, the pain throbbing through his body. “I will order someone to come get you.”  
  
  
The room is so quiet, Jongdae can hear his own heart beating. 

It’s a calm beat, slowed down by calming lavender and lilacs, but a part of him feels as if he shouldn’t be  _ this  _ calm, this satisfied - by only the simple fact that he’s sitting here, surrounded by his brothers and sisters, flanking him left and right. It’s Yixing’s gentle hand this time, gripping lightly around the base of Jongdae’s neck, thumb pressing into the knob of the protruding vertebrae just where his nape smoothes out into the broad line of his shoulders. Seungwan is sitting to his right, one leg slung across his thigh and he rubs tiny circles into the still-sore flesh over her knee.  Her wounds are still tender to the touch, only thinning out into silver scars little by little. Her last mission nearly killed her and while Jongdae was part amused, part worried when she returned, he’s in no position to laugh at her now. He returned more dead than alive too, this time.   
He barely registers Yixing’s touch by now, slowing down his thoughts to a point where everything seems to be covered by a shimmering fog that clings to his mind, slick like oil.   
And yet, even though the back and forth of Yixing’s thumb against his spine pushes him deeper into the oily colors of his own mind, there’s something off. Perhaps it’s the fact that Yixing sits behind him, knees framing Jongdae’s ribs on either side. It’s Jongin, normally, who has Yixing’s undivided attention. Now though, with the other assassin behind him, so close he can feel his body heat seeping into his own skin, he can’t help but notice how the blind prophet is leaning into Minseok, the dead god’s lips barely brushing Jongin’s ear as he speaks. His voice is too quiet to make a sound, even in the heavy silence of the room and Jongdae catches himself holding his breath, like it could help him understand what the god and prophet are discussing. And as if Minseok felt Jongdae’s gaze on them, he suddenly looks up, the black holes of his eyes flickering up just a second after his lips stretch into a grin, knowing and brushing through Jongdae’s soul like a physical touch.   
  
He turns his head away in instinct, avoiding Minseok’s eyes even though his mind tells him not to. 

He’s stronger than that - and yet, Minseok is a god while Jongdae himself needs a long way to reach the godhood like the other man already has.  The murmured conversations die out, abruptly.   
It’s the doors opening in the front of the room, bathing the floor in a broad strip of light, broken by dancing shadows. Sehun seems so much bigger than Jisoo, Jongdae thinks to himself while he watches the young master guide his apprentice into the circular hall. Even Han does, although he isn’t much taller than Jongdae himself. He seems to tower over both Sehun and Jisoo alike from where he’s walking behind them, one hand curled around his dagger, while he keeps the other arm tightly wrapped around a shiny wooden box. Finest mahogany, silver inlays lining the lid.  Jongdae feels as if someone poured a bucket of water across his head. The last time he saw this box, Yifan cut out his own tongue out - in front of the entire brotherhood, masters and apprentices alike.  His body wasn’t strong enough to endure the change, the seed of godhood inside of him not blooming brightly just yet.   
The festering wound dragged him into grave only weeks after his attempt to become their voiceless guardian. The sight of this wooden chest and the athame inside, brings thrill and dread all the same. And for it to be carried into the master’s hall can only mean one thing.

“Have you decided?”, Hangeng asks from where he sits, cutting himself short when Minseok lifts a hand and leans forward in his seat. If only the creed master hadn’t chosen to be the bearer of ancient secrets, it would be him now. One of the gods. Minseok’s place amongst them was granted to him the moment he was born, dead blood already flowing through his veins.  But Hangeng, sitting there with his pressed shut tightly, looks almost scared - something Jongdae has never seen before. Not in all those twenty years since he arrived in the brotherhood.   
“Master Jongdae.”, Minseok says now, silently. But he could as well have been yelling. Han and Sehun are already shoving Jisoo down to the floor in front of them and the apprentice goes willingly, her eyes trained on Jongdae, hopeful and wide. Filled with longing.  Jongdae bites down on his tongue, turning his head away from her to look back over towards Minseok, who levels him with a gaze so calm and waiting, it makes Jongdae’s blood buzz in his veins. 

“Your apprentice fought hard for you.”, the god tells him now, slowly and carefully. Even though Jongdae feels as if he should be proud of her - if only for a heartbeat - he feels angry shame well up inside of him. Minseok’s intentions are clear, what with the way he adds: “But she attacked two members of the brotherhood, who were under your very own orders to take care of her. In case you could not return from this mission, you assigned master Yixing and his apprentice Taeyong to take her in as one of their own.” He pauses, but the silence has nothing but calculation. “She not only disobeyed your direct orders, but also attempted to blind apprentice Taeyong.”  
“I am aware of that.”, Jongdae answers him, brushing away Seungwan’s leg and Yixing’s gentle touch all the same as he gets up, leaned heavily onto his cane. “And I have made a decision.”

“Very well.”, Minseok nods and falls silent. 

Jongdae keeps his eyes on Jisoo’s form on the ground - the way she has her hands folded in her lap like he taught her, the straight line of her spine even though she ducks her head low. She’s still so terribly hopeful. There’s no place for hope, after what she did. No place for this desperate adoration that shines too brightly in her dark brown eyes. Too much color left within her, now.   
“Master.”, she whispers and her voice breaks. Jongdae gestures for Han to step forward, the other opening the mahogany chest without even batting an eyelash at him. The dagger inside is pure silver, no adornments or jewels. Just plain, polished silver.  Jisoo’s face pales as Jongdae reaches into the box, taking the dagger out of its velvety bed, weighing it in his palm. She shifts, scooting across the marble floor with her hands reaching for Jongdae’s leg.   
“Master, please.” 

Something brushes against his arm, soft and light. It’s Minseok, a raven feather stroking over Jongdae’s naked shoulder. When he speaks, it’s clear that the words are only meant for him - nearly inaudible, nothing more than a breath that is just loud enough to not be drowned out by Jisoo’s panicked yelp when both Sehun and Han bend down to contain her arms, twisting them back by the shoulders so she has to angle her face up to look at Jongdae.   
“You can choose to forgive her and show mercy.”, Minseok whispers to him, not even looking at Jisoo where she’s starting to sob on the floor.   
“Mercy is the daughter of justice. But remember that you’ve shown mercy before and perhaps it was misplaced.”

He’s talking about Baekhyun, Jongdae realizes as he takes a deep, steadying breath. 

The feeling of being trapped surges up inside of him and he sets his jaw, grips the dagger tighter.   
“We are the order, not the brotherhood, as soon as we forget where our place in this world is.”, he says loudly, speaking over Jisoo’s desperate pleas. “You should know yours.”  
“Master, no, please!”, she starts babbling, fighting against the iron grips of the two young masters holding her down. “I beg you, please! Please don’t do this to me!”  
“Hold her still.”, Minseok orders, voice like steel and ice. Jongdae is thankful for it.  He brushes his hand over her cheek then, brushing away the tears clinging to the skin and she pauses in her sobbing, only to start crying even harder when she notices the way he turns the dagger between his fingers, the blade pointing downwards. 

“Please.”, she breathes out, sounding as if there is no air left in her lungs anymore. “Master.”

“An eye for an eye.”, Jongdae tells her, gripping her chin between his fingers, bringing the dagger down onto her.   
  
  
The halls of the sanctum have never felt quite like this.  
They were always a safe haven, the innermost sacred place for him. He never was a soldier in here, just a man with hopes and dreams. Pointless, he thinks now when he stares at the moving waters of the pond he’s sitting at, fingers  
ripping out threads of his tunic. It’s been three weeks since his return and yet, he feels as if it’s an eternity. Pointless hopes, pointless dreams. When he was younger, eyes filled with admiration and always turned towards his master, he dreamed of changing the world. Of being just and good. Defending those, who can’t fight for themselves. Now, with the eyes of the sanctum guards pressing into his neck, he feels as if he did the opposite.   
Granting men like Zhoumi amnesty in the name of a greater good - the knowledge is like a splinter underneath his skin, festering. 

Or perhaps it’s Jongdae’s poison, slowly spreading through him. 

He sighs, angry at himself and buries his face in his hands, trying to forget how the place he once thought of as a safe haven, is now his prison. What, if they are right? What if the assassin cursed him, placed a spark doubt into his heart and now Baekhyun can do nothing but watch himself rot away with it. Watch himself getting eaten alive by the spark that will grow into a flame, if he doesn’t stomp it out.  But he can’t.   
His eyes feel as if they’re open now, when they were closed his entire life.  The rustling of fabric rips him out of his thoughts and he half expects it to be one of the elders, who did nothing but question him day in and day out, pressing fingers into the bruises of his soul and digging through his mind as if he was a curious thing underneath their scalpels. 

Doctors, dissecting him. 

It’s Junmyeon, not an elder, his white eyes following the trail of a lotus flower across the blue, clear water. He just sits there, hands folded in his lap, as if Baekhyun isn’t there -   
as if the two sanctum guards aren’t there, watching their every move.  
“You seem troubled, my friend.”, the healer says after a long stretch of quiet and Baekhyun wants to scoff. He doesn’t, if only to not alert the guards, who seem as if they have lost interest in them.  
What could be suspicious about a healer and an adept sitting together to converse. 

“Let me see your wound.”, Junmyeon tells him, not waiting for Baekhyun to answer, as if he can see into his mind and follow his thoughts.   
“I have to make sure it’s not scarring in a way that prevents you of fighting to your full potential.”  
“We’re not warriors.”, Baekhyun answers him in a breath and Junmyeon’s eyes are sharp when they turn up towards his face.   
He’s pulling at Baekhyun’s tunic already, undressing him so he can press cold fingers into the pink skin between his ribs.   
“Perhaps that’s not what I meant.”, he hears the other man mutter, but it feels as if Junmyeon is more talking to himself than to Baekhyun. “When I said your full potential.”  
The way Junmyeon talks makes him shift on the stone bench he’s sitting on, head turning to look at the guards, but the healer’s stern voice stops him. “Don’t look at them. You’ll attract their attention, if you do. They don’t care for you talking to a blind man.”  
He pauses, watches Junmyeon’s fingers dance across a wound that’s long healed. Then, so silently he is sure only the man in front of him can hear, he says: “But you’re not really blind, are you?”  
“What makes you think so?”, comes the question and Baekhyun would think Junmyeon is offended, weren’t it for the amused lilt to his voice.  And Baekhyun is silent, just watches him as he pulls out a jar of ointment to rub into the scar across his side, fingers working quickly and practiced. He remembers Junmyeon as a bright, lively boy - not only a quiet, perpetually amused healer. With eyes as bright as the sun.   
He thinks of Heechul then, of the way his eyes were misted over with milky white, how his lips curled and how he lusted after Baekhyun’s blood. This was what he was taught to fear. A mindless, hate-filled murderer. Something tipped his entire world on its axis, making his head spin.

“You’re thinking so loud, it’s not hard to guess what you’re thinking  _ about.”, _ Junmyeon suddenly speaks up again and Baekhyun nearly flinches. “Or should I say… who?”  
“You can see just fine with those eyes of yours, can’t you?”, Baekhyun asks in lieu of an answer and Junmyeon’s smile widens, just a tad. “You’re just as blind as Heechul when he tried to kill me.”  
“Is that so? And why do you think my eyes are white, if I’m not blind?”, Junmyeon wants to know, the hint of laugh in his voice and Baekhyun stares at him morosely. He’s pushing the lid back onto his jar of ointment, but his eyes never leave Baekhyun’s face, the lift of his lips almost teasing.  This time, Baekhyun looks over his shoulder, back to where the guards stand, conversing quietly themselves, sides turned towards them. They’re not paying attention and Baekhyun dares to scoot a little closer towards Junmyeon, one hand on his knee to make sure the man’s attention is on him and nothing else. 

“Heechul’s eyes were clear as the sky, when I last saw him. But when he came after my head, they were.. like yours. And he… he wasn’t himself anymore. Not devoted to the order anymore, but just - his only goal was to kill me.”, he mutters and Junmyeon nods along to his words, lips pursed and pressed together tightly. “Is that… will my eyes turn white too, Junmyeon?”  
It’s a small confession, but apparently enough for the healer to pause and cock his head at him. And yet he doesn’t seem surprised - no, perhaps pleasantly so, but not quite - as if he already expected Baekhyun to say something like this. But maybe not so soon, Baekhyun thinks when he watches Junmyeon run a hand through his sand-colored hair with a deep, long drawn sigh.  
“This is not the time or place to talk about this. You should come to my chambers later today-”, he pauses, eyes flickering over to the sanctum guards. “So I can take a proper look at you.”  
Junmyeon gets up then, looking stiff and tense and only when the shadow of one of his guards falls over them, does Baekhyun realize why. Junmyeon hesitates, opening his mouth only to close it again and then say:   
“I’ll see you after the evening meal, then. It’s going to be alright.”  
  
  
It’s easier than he thought to sneak out of his room and shake off the two guards positioned by his room. Even with the countless torches and candles lighting the corridors, the order is eerily silent - as if he’s a ghost walking through the ashes of what he once called home. This doesn’t feel like home anymore. He remembers each scratch along the walls - there, the dent in the door frame where Seulgi tackled Mino so hard he knocked out one of his teeth - the tracks of feet across the sand in the training pits, drawing familiar patterns. He remembers wrestling Jeonguk into the dust there, preening under Teuk’s praise and feeling as if he was a head taller than he actually was. But now everything feels cold and strange to him, like he doesn’t belong here anymore. Not like he did before.   
There’s this nagging voice in the back of his head, following him into his dreams and while it sounded like Jongdae during the first week, it sounds like himself now. Whenever he closes his eyes, he can see the starving, sick people in the streets, their bones showing through skin littered with dark, rotting spots. He sees mothers screaming in the streets for their children, begging the soldiers and guards for help - help to find them, please, they were in their beds the evening before! - and while he tries to deny it, he knows that all of this was the orders doing. Perhaps not directly, but by turning their heads away, shutting their eyes tightly.   
  
A greater good. 

He can do nothing but scoff, ball his fists and grit his teeth.   
Monsters, wherever he turns his head. There’s the brotherhood, lurking in the darkness of the night, drinking the blood of the innocent to gain unholy immortality. Then there’s the thing Baekhyun believed in his entire life. Doing the right thing, serving the right cause.  He feels as if he was fed lies his entire life, ever since he was old enough to remember.  Turning a corner, he breathes in slowly, then out through his nose again so he can steady himself, ignore the thundering of his heart in his ears. There’s a drum beating under his skin and he wishes he could understand.  His own darkness, Jongdae’s voice echoes inside of his chest and he stumbles at the thought. 

Was it really the assassin, who planted this slowly festering seed of doubt into him - or did he do it all on his own?

He crosses the wide, open span of the sanctum’s entrance, tilts his head up to look at the night above him, at the glittering stars that seems like the only thing that didn’t change.   
The sky is still the same, but his heart might not be anymore. He wishes someone could tell him what’s wrong with him, wishes he could cure this… whatever this might be. Cure himself. But, a purring voice inside of him asks, does he really want that? He’s just about to push into the healer’s wing, when a pair of hands winds hard around his upper arm and swings him around. There’s no time for him to scream in shock, before the back of his head hits the wall and he gasps for air, lightning shooting through his skull and flashing behind his eyelids. On instinct, he braces himself for a hit, catching a fist against his arm, tries to duck away from the body in front of him. But all he manages is to stumble against another, arms wrapping around his middle and lifting him easily.   
  
“It was only a question of time.”, he hears the female sanctum guard say and now, with his eyes closed, he recognizes the voice.   
It’s familiar to him after years spent ducked low over scrolls together, whispering answers to each other during a masters teachings. Sojin.   
“What?”, he croaks out and then manages to open his eyes, struggling against the strong hold around his middle. The arms only tighten, pressing the air from his lungs. “What are you talking about?”  
“Adept Baekhyun.”, Sojin only goes on, as if he didn’t speak at all. “You’re hereby sentenced for treason against the order of the sun.”   
“I- I never-”, he tries to say, but there’s no breath in his lungs anymore, his mind swimming with the lack of oxygen. “I’ve never-”  
“May the sun grant you forgiveness.”, she says, just before she punches him, her fist breaking his nose all over again and the world goes dark.   
  
  
He wakes up to a splash of cold water into his face and he sputters, wants to wipe at the rivulets flowing down his face - only to find his arms bound. There’s the floor, when he opens his eyes, not a wall or a ceiling and he gasps for air, groans when he can’t even turn his head to the side to shake his wet hair out of his forehead. He’s disoriented, dizzy. Before he can blink the fog from his mind, another gush of water hits him and he wants to scream, wants to fight against the chains tying him to the wooden plank they bound him to. His legs are bent, but he’s not sitting, held up only by the construction he’s more lying on than sitting.   
“Adept Byun.”, elder Yunho’s voice cuts through the silence and Baekhyun wants to turn towards it on instinct. He can’t - not when his face is framed by splintering wood.   
“Confess and tell us the names of those who conspire against the order with you and your sentence shall be merciful.”  
“There are no - I’m not-”, he starts, cut off short by icy water once again. He coughs, trying to exhale the little moisture that got into his nose. He wheezes, more than he speaks when he whispers:   
“I never conspired against the order, my elder.”  
  
Yunho clicks his tongue, somewhere behind the blinding lights dancing across his vision and Baekhyun tries to calm his erratic heartbeat enough for it to not hurt in his ears anymore.   
“The evidence against you is impenetrable, adept.”, Yunho tells him and he sounds so bored - so terribly, terribly bored, as if this scene is nothing but familiar to him.   
“What evidence?”, he asks, still coughing and this time he sees the surge coming his way. He closes his mouth, screws his eyes shut as tightly as he can and holds his breath - but he ends up sputtering anyway. The water burns on his skin, in his eyes and he realizes that it’s saltwater, drying hard on his skin when there is a long pause. Long enough for him to hear the elder’s footsteps across the simple stone floor, the echo telling him enough to know that this is a small, almost tiny chamber. They’re somewhere deep inside the guts of the sanctum, he thinks to himself while the elder hums behind him. An eerie tune.   
“Your brother Heechul left a letter before he died, warning us about your dark thoughts. He informed us about the growing darkness inside of you and now look at yourself, adept. Caught sneaking around in the middle of the night.”

“I was-”

“On your way to see the healer Junmyeon, yes we are aware of that.”, Yunho interrupts him and Baekhyun bites his tongue. Let them torture him, he thinks grimly. Let them torture him, as long as they don’t touch Junmyeon. They can’t though, not if he’s the son of the head healer, one of the remaining elders of the former circle. He’s untouchable. Or so Baekhyun hopes.   
“He has nothing to do with this.”, he spits out and then cries out in pain when Yunho grips his shoulder, digging his fingers into the soft flesh just underneath his collarbone.   
It feels as if the man is trying to pull him out of a chair by the bone alone, hooking his fingers until they are nearly break through his skin, piercing into his flesh.   
“We know that. The son of our sacred healer would never betray the order. Scum like you could never understand, adept Baekhyun. Plotting against your own master and blood brother. Your soul must be rotten to the core.”  
“My soul is as pure as it ever was.”, Baekhyun denies. He can’t bite back the whimper that rips through him when Yunho digs deeper into his collarbone, humming in thought behind him.   
“Heechul told us you’d be too far gone to be reasonable.”, the elder mutters and then clicks his tongue again, letting go of Baekhyun as if he burned himself with the touch. “Confess and we will end your suffering quickly. As long as your body isn’t tainted yet, you might have a place by the healing mother’s side.”   
He can’t reply, not when someone’s stepping up in front of him - nothing but a pair of leather boots and white pants in Baekhyun’s field of vision - wrapping a cloth soaked in icy salt water around his head, covering his entire face. He tries to hold his breath, tries not to inhale any of the liquid - but it’s hard with Yunho’s hand digging into him again, this time hooking underneath both his collarbones.   
  
He screams, water filling his mouth, his nose and eventually his lungs. 

“We will save you, before your body is tainted beyond salvation.”, is the last thing he hears the elder say, before he passes out cold.   
  
  
He loses track of time, hanging in this limbo  - such a fine line between him being awake and slipping into unconsciousness again. For long moments he doesn’t know what’s real and what are figments of his own mind playing tricks on him. They start leaving marks after the second day, or so he guesses. He went through a cycle of hunger and tiredness, even with all the times he fainted with water in his lungs. Time seems as thick as molasses to him by now, even when an unknown sanctum guard draws burning irons down his back, melting open his tunic. He’s left in tatters, not only his clothes but his skin and muscles too. He’s cramping, shivering violently with how hard his muscles are contracting. At one point, he stops begging, stops crying.   
“Please, adept Baekhyun.”, he hears Changmin’s voice at one point and the elder sounds just as desperate as he is by now. “Confess your sins and put an end to this."  
  
  
There’s someone standing in the corner by the time Baekhyun opens his eyes again, aching with pain. He lost it when Sojin started breaking his fingers, one after one. The sound of his snapping bones had him retching, dry heaving and eventually throwing up what little salt water was inside his stomach. He feels dry, parched, and paper-thin. As if they’re shaving away at his very soul. If only he could give in. Tell them they’re right and he is a traitor.   
But he can’t. He can’t do that, because Teuk raised him to be a better man than to submit to those lies. Those lies, told by the people he trusted, would have given his life for. There’s someone standing in the corner, silent and unmoving. When he looks up, the image swims for a heartbeat, but the woman is still there. His head hurts. It hurts so much. By now he feels is if he’s not part of his own body anymore, as if his soul ripped itself loose from his bones and he’s nothing but cut-off thoughts by now. 

“I look like you.”, he tells the woman standing in the corner and even though the room is so dark, he can’t even see the walls surrounding him, he sees her smile. The smile he always wears on his lips, soft and pouty and pliant. Open and vulnerable.  Perhaps this smile is what got him in here, he thinks while he lets his eyes travel over her face. Did they bring her in here to see him suffer? To break him even more?   
Did they go to find his mother so he would feel ashamed enough to finally give up?  
“You brought me to the order so I’d become a better man than my father.”, he whispers and even though his body protests, he tries reaching out for her. She doesn’t move, just looks at him with sad, brown eyes. The same brown his eyes used to be. Rich and dark, freckled with gold.  “Now look at me.”  
She cocks her head to the side and again he feels as if he’s looking into a mirror. Does it feel the same to her? Is it as if she’s looking into a mirror, see Baekhyun sitting there, bloody and broken?  
  
Who is it she’s seeing? 

“I must be such a disappointment to you.”, he whispers and finally, after all those hours of them ripping out his fingernails, burning him and breaking his bones, there are tears running down his cheeks.   
They feel hot against his skin, as if they are burning him all over again.   
“I’m sorry.”, he sobs, hands raising to wipe at the snot and tears on his face, at the blood. But he’s shackled, chained so tightly he can barely breathe or flex his wrists. “I’m sorry, mother. I disappointed you. I can’t believe in them anymore - they - I can’t! They’re not… what I… I don’t know what to believe anymore. And if I can’t believe in them anymore, I don’t know- I don’t know who I am anymore. Mother. Mother look at me. Please look at me and-” He pauses, searches for her eyes that never left his face. “I wish you didn’t have to see me like this. You gave birth to a man who doesn’t know what’s right and what’s wrong anymore.”  
He closes his eyes then, can’t take to look at her anymore. And when he opens them again, words on his lips, she’s gone. The fragments of his soul are burrowed so deeply into his skin, he wants to scream.   
  
  
“One name, adept Baekhyun”, elder Junsu tells him and he’s sounding oddly gentle, compared to Yunho’s snark and Changmin’s begging. “A single name and you’re free. I will personally make sure to put you out of your misery.”  
He cups Baekhyun’s chin between his fingers, crouching before him so they are eye to eye, but Baekhyun doesn’t really see him. After they started skinning the burns off his back, he’s far away - somewhere far away inside of himself. He wonders what he must look like to elder Junsu. Does he look blissed out? Half dead? Do his eyes roll back inside his head, or is he looking straight at the man crouching before him, holding him ever so gently.   
“You’re making this harder on yourself, than it needs to be.”, Junso says and strokes a finger over the healing cut on Baekhyun’s cheek. If the wounds are crusting over, how long has it been? 

How long is he down here already? 

Junsu scoffs, when Baekhyun presses his lips together, blood running down his chin. He won’t answer. Won’t give them a name just to be free. If he has to die down here and take Heechul’s lies to the grave with hem, he will.   
“Look at you.”, the elder hisses while getting back up to his feet. “We should have known your soul is already too far gone. Even your eyes are turning dark already.”  
  
  
He won’t scream.   
  
Even if they are cutting open the back of his hand, trying to severe the sinews from the bones, he won’t scream. Perhaps he can’t, anymore. If he’s being honest with himself.  He’s so far gone, so weak, the smallest sound feels as if he’s ripping himself apart.  It’s sanctum guard Donghae this time, without his veil. Baekhyun caught sight of his face when the older man stepped into the chamber earlier, setting down his torture devices down on the floor next to where Baekhyun is still strapped down. By now they removed the construction keeping his head still, too busy beating him to have his head restrained. Or perhaps they enjoy the way he can’t keep his head up anymore.   
“Confess.”, Donghae tells him with a snap and Baekhyun grits his teeth, groans through the pain of a knife slicing just underneath the skin of his hand. Is it like skinning an apple, Baekhyun wonders, when he hears the door creak open.   
“Torture is not my field of work.”, he hears Jongdae’s voice and it sounds so soothing to him suddenly, he feels ashamed of it. The thought should not be consoling. But Jongdae’s presence seems to be so much more gentle to him right now, so much more desirable. Would the brotherhood torture one of their own like this? His thoughts screech to a sudden halt, when he feels the knife stop on the back of his hand. Donghae is straightening up where he stands, Baekhyun can see it out of the corner of his eye. 

“Who’s there?”

He doesn’t get an answer. There’s nothing but darkness outside of the door, not the slightest hint on why it swung open.   
Then, with a sound so loud Baekhyun flinches away from it, the heavy lock holding the door shut before, clutters to the ground. Broken into two.  
“Who-”, Donghae starts again and takes a step towards the door, turning his attention away from Baekhyun, who suddenly feels as if he’s vibrating. There are shadows curling around the threshold.   
He knows those shadows. And right now, they feel so much more gratifying than the light of the sun.  Nothing happens - not until the sanctum guard takes yet another step. 

It happens fast, after that. 

A movement, just the hint of it, deep inside the curling darkness. Then a flash of silver and the sound of rustling fabric, two quick steps on stone. Baekhyun’s mind is too slow to process it for how fast it’s happening. A body catapulting itself through the air, one arm stretched out and the other raised high, a slender silver blade flashing in the twilight of Baekhyun’s cell.  Strong, slim legs clad in black, pulled up high before they slam into Donghae’s chest, bracketing him on either side. And then the knife comes down - again, again, again - blood splashing over the guard’s pristine white clothes, over Baekhyun’s face. It doesn’t stop, the light of the blade appearing time and time again, until Donghae falls backwards and crashes to the floor.   
“Jongdae.”, Baekhyun breathes, before he can catch himself and only then does the attacker turn their head towards him. It’s a woman. Even under her hood, he can see the finely chiseled features of her face, the black hair framing her cheeks.  She reaches up, brushes off her hood, her head curiously cocking to the side as she studies Baekhyun’s face with eyes so dark, they seem to suck up the remaining light inside the room.  
“You know a brother of mine?”, she asks and he is surprised by how  _ soft  _ her voice is. It’s an obscene contrast to the blood on her face, smeared when she licks over them with a tongue already red.   
He can’t answer, is frozen where he‘s chained down and she’s stepping closer to him already, reaching for the shackles. Baekhyun sits and stares, eyes flickering between her and the body on the ground. Donghae isn’t even breathing anymore and Baekhyun is sure he was dead before he even hit the floor. The woman opens her mouth, starts to speak again, when a second voice cuts through the cell, breathless but all too satisfied. 

“I see you found him, Joohyun.”

Baekhyun’s mind feels like it’s wrapped in cotton, he doesn’t even register the sound of his chains hitting the floor before he’s falling backwards with a moan of pain and agony.   
It’s Junmyeon, who catches him, the assassin watching them with intent but emotionless interest.   
“I have you, Baekhyun.”, Junmyeon tells him softly, brushing a tender hand through his sweaty, dirty hair. He leans into the touch, his eyes nearly falling shut again. “We’re going to get you out of here.”  
  
  
The corridor is empty, but there are bodies on the stairs when Junmyeon drags Baekhyun along, his ankles hitting each step when the other man has to lift him up so he doesn’t fall.  
“Come on, Baekhyun.”, he urges quietly, shooting a nervous glance around the corner and then at the assassin following them like a shadow. “Can you help me with him?”  
“No.”, Joohyun answers immediately, brushing past them and into the hallway beyond the corner. Junmyeon pauses, then shakes his head with a sigh that sounds awfully fond. He grips Baekhyun a little tighter them, again urging him on with silent words of encouragement. He slows them down, even though he doesn’t know what they are running from. Or who. 

Are there people pursuing them? And why? 

“Baekhyun.”, Junmyeon says sternly after a couple more steps and pushes him up against a wall so he can rest his arms. He’s by far not as muscular as Baekhyun, although his shoulders are broad.  
It must be hard on him, Baekhyun thinks, to drag him along like dead weight.  
“You have to walk for yourself. Just for a little bit. We have to make it to my quarters. I promise you can rest there.”   
His voice is so tender, so affectionate. It has Baekhyun’s heart clenching, tears welling up in his eyes after all those endless days of nothing but torture. He’s exhausted. More than he’s ever been - it’s not just his body, it’s his soul. His mind. He doesn’t know who he is anymore, where he is or why.  So he nods, mechanically so - but it seems to satisfy Junmyeon enough for him to keep pushing forward. He still keeps an arm around Baekhyun’s middle, steadying him, but he makes sure he walks. One slow step after the other.  There’s an arm, protruding from a hallway, slipping out of view just as they come close enough to hear the sound of a slick blade getting pulled out of dead flesh. Baekhyun retches.  Junmyeon lets him throw up, patting a patient hand across his hair when he’s done. There is nothing in his stomach he could vomit. It’s then that Joohyun appears again, out of the hallway she just dragged the body into, wiping her blade clean on the red sash wrapped around her middle.  The color of the fabric is so deep, it barely darkens with the moisture, but Baekhyun’s eyes seem to be drawn to the spot, wondering how many people he knows found their end, the last evidence of their lives wiped away carelessly on the cloth hanging across Joohyun’s upper thigh.  
“This way.”, Joohyun says into the space between them and her eyes are heavy on him, as if she can follow his thoughts. “The rest of the sanctum should be empty. You said nobody should be out at this time, right?”  
The question isn’t directed at him and Baekhyun turns his head just enough to see Junmyeon nod, face drawn and guarded. But there is a crease of worry between his eyebrows and for a moment Baekhyun asks himself if it doesn’t bother the healer to see their comrades die by the hands of an assassin. An assassin inside their own temple, most likely invited by Junmyeon himself.   
  
“Walk, Baekhyun.”, Junmyeon tells him softly and Baekhyun obeys. 

He can’t help but obey, his body reacting while his mind is limping after them, shattered and exhausted. Up a staircase, a left turn down a broad, pillar-seamed hallway.   
Another set of stairs, this time down and after that a long winding set of corridors, doors on their left and windows on their right. The night outside is clear, the moon hanging thin and sickly looking between bright glittering stars. He doesn’t know where they are headed, even though those halls are familiar to him. He could walk them with his eyes closed and he wouldn’t miss a single step.  But now everything seems as if he’s fey, alien in his own home.   
Only when Junmyeon pushes him through a set of curtains does he realize the sound of water, the welcoming blue glow that washes over his sore eyes, soothing his soul.   
  
The healing baths. 

Empty and vacant, so silent he can hear them breathing in the vault. His own sounds rattling.   
“Baekhyun! Stop!”, Junmyeon suddenly chides him and he stops, looks down at his own flayed hands. He’s fighting them, even with his broken fingers - the ones that aren’t, balled in the front of Junmyeon’s shirt.   
“We’re trying to help you.”  
They’re undressing him, his mind provides him and he lets his arms go lax by his sides, allowing Junmyeon to pull at the drawstrings of his pants, pushing them down his legs until Baekhyun is bare before them both. Joohyun doesn’t even look at him, just grabs him by the arm, aiding Junmyeon when he starts pulling Baekhyun into the water. They’re both dressed, their clothes soaking full of glowing water and Baekhyun is suddenly all too aware that he’s naked in front of them - his once unscarred, unblemished skin on full display when Junmyeon starts cupping water between his hollow hands and pours it over his shoulders, washing it down his arms and over his neck.   
“I can’t heal your broken bones.”, he hears the other whisper while rubbing circles into his shoulders, skin catching on the burns and cuts there. They are already crusting with the magic of the bath, but they need time to vanish. They probably never will, Baekhyun thinks to himself while Joohyun cups his cheek and turns his head so he’s looking at the assassin.   
“Trust him.”, she tells him and Baekhyun feels himself nod. He thinks of Jongdae, suddenly, of the way his skin was littered in scars and marks and black ink, so different than his own.  
Now, he smiles sadly to himself, there is no difference between anymore, if they would stand side by side with nothing but their skin between them.   
He doesn’t know how long it takes them to wash him, to massage his sore muscles and set the joints of his fingers. The snapping is unbearably loud to him and he gags around nothing, lets Junmyeon push his hair back when he bends over to vomit. His throat is sore, even when Joohyun reaches for a bowl by the edge of the water to let him drink. The water soothes him, inside and out, but he pain he feels is not physical. Never would he have dared to believe the order would use torture.  Never would he have dared to believe that one day, it would be an assassin saving him from the hands of his own people. 

“Jongdae.”, he suddenly hears Joohyun say and he snaps his head up to look at her. Her eyes are not on him, but on Junmyeon, who looks back at her with furrowed eyebrows. “If he was rescued by an assassin, it was Jongdae. I know he was the last one of the brotherhood in this city.”

“Will he-”

“He will.”, Joohyun nods and then reaches out to brush the back of her hand against the healer’s cheek. And even though her face is void of any emotion, there is something tender shining in her eyes. Something, that makes Baekhyun’s heart clench and in his insides burn. “Trust the brotherhood, Junmyeon. Have faith in their judgement.”  
“Of course.”, Junmyeon smiles back at her and then the moment is broken.  Baekhyun lets them pull him out of the water as if he’s a ragdoll, limb and willing in their hands when they wrap him in towels and push him into a chair, Junmyeon starting to stitch the worst cuts on his skin and splinting his fingers, while Joohyun pulls a black tunic over his head, fixing the collar with a silver needle. It has a tiny eagle at the end, the wings guarding the thin silver tip.   
“Give this to Jongdae.”, Joohyun says and she holds his chin between her fingers so hard, Baekhyun thinks she’s going to break through the bone. “He will know it is mine.”  
Who is she to him that he would recognize a piece of jewelry, Baekhyun hears a voice inside of him ask and he stomps down on it, breathes out harshly through his nose while he makes himself nod once again.   
“Wait.”, he says then, just when Junmyeon is applying a herbal paste mixed with wet clay across his broken nose. The bone moves under the healer’s touch and Baekhyun catches himself hissing in anger. Junmyeon shoots him a look, half surprised and half proud.   
  
  
“What do you mean,  _ give this to Jongdae _ ?”, he echoes Joohyun’s words, who gives him a look so annoyed, he feels himself shrink in his chair. “He left, didn’t he? Did he come back?”  
Come back for who, Baekhyun asks himself angrily. Come back for what?  Him?  Pathetic.   
“Baekhyun, listen to me.”, Junmyeon suddenly whispers and his voice is thick with emotion. Even tears, if Baekhyun didn’t know any better. When their eyes meet, there is a sad smile on the healer’s lips, not quite reaching his eyes. “You can’t stay here. They won’t believe you and I can’t watch you getting executed. Joohyun will get you out of the sanctum, alright? She will make sure you have everything you need to cross the desert.”  
“Cross the desert?”, Baekhyun repeats and Junmyeon’s smile deepens in its sadness.   
“Yes, the desert. You need to find the brotherhood. Don’t- please, Baekhyun. Go find them so you won’t end up like me. Torn apart.”

“You’re not-”

“I am.”, Junmyeon interrupts him gently and his white eyes glitter with the blue reflections across the walls and on their skin. “And your eyes are starting to lose their color too. Only the brotherhood will have the answers you’re looking for, Baekhyun. And don’t try to lie to me. Your eyes are proof enough to me.”  
Baekhyun just looks at him, his mind reeling and a thousand words on the tip of his tongue.   
“I’ll do it.”, he mutters eventually and Junmyeon releases a relieved breath. “For you."  
  
  
He’s dressed in black.   
Never before has he worn black just like this, wrapped in a inky cloak and linen pants, the boots made of soft leather and knee-high. He looks like Jongdae, he thinks to himself while looking down on his body, studying the lines of his legs under the fabric of his pants.  The night around him is silent, only broken by the barking of a dog somewhere in the labyrinth of the alleys around the sanctum. He breathes in, feels the air fill his lungs and then breathes out again, slowly. The rise and fall of his chest hurts, there’s still pain flowing through his veins, even though the healing bath should have taken the edge off. Or is it the change of his soul, that hurts him so much?  
“Come with me.”, Joohyun suddenly says loudly behind him and Baekhyun turns from where he was staring up into the night, blinking the image of a glowing moon from his behind his eyelids.   
He turns just in time to see Junmyeon shake his head, one hand reaching out for her face to thread his fingers into the ink of her hair. And he feels as if he shouldn’t watch and yet he can’t look away, can’t avert his eyes when the assassin reaches up and curls her fingers around the man’s wrist, keeping his palm against the side of her face.   
“They will kill you.”, she whispers and Junmyeon cocks his head to the side, blinking.   
“Didn’t you hear?”, he gives back silently and Joohyun purses her lips. “I’m untouchable. As the son of their sacred healer, they can not touch me. My mother would never let them.”  
“Jun.” There’s a pause in her words and then: “You promised me.”  
Junmyeon laughs, silently so and his eyes flicker over to where Baekhyun is standing, watching them quietly.   
Their gazes meet, holding each other for a second before Junmyeon turns his attention back to Joohyun again, bending down just enough to kiss her forehead. 

“I promised you, yes. I promised next time, Joohyun. You will come back to get me.”, he breathes against her skin and Baekhyun sees the way the woman wraps an around around Junmyeon’s middle and pulls him in close, her lips pressing just at the corner of the healer’s mouth.   
“If you die, I will-”  
“Be terribly angry at me. I know.’”, Junmyeon chuckles and Joohyun stomps down on his foot. He doesn’t even flinch, just catches her face between his hands and kisses her soundly on the lips.   
“Yes.”, the assassin hisses, but there is no bite in her voice.   
“Go.”, Junmyeon only says, but his words aren’t really directed at Joohyun. He’s talking to Baekhyun.   
He hesitates, shifts on his leather boots and then asks: “Will we see each other again?”  
Junmyeon looks amused, but his voice is sad when he finally answers: “Oh, of course we will, my friend. You’ll come back here, if only you can understand.”  
Baekhyun can’t help but look back over his shoulder to where Junmyeon is standing in front of the sanctum gates, hands folded in front of his groin.   
And while he watches his friend staying behind, he doesn’t know if he’s ever seen someone look so heartbroken and yet hopeful at the same time.   
  
****


	7. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DOUBLE UPDATE!   
> Why? Because I can and this story is a monster that ist just too damn long to only post one chapter every week.

The alarm sounds shrill, echoing through the halls and chambers of the temple, reflected off of walls and pillars, ripping Jongdae awake with a startle.   
He’s up and out of bed even though his mind is too sluggish to comprehend, sleep clinging to his insides. He shakes it off as he shrugs into his high-collared chiton, closing the buttons just when he runs out the door. 

Intruder, the golden bell rings over and over again, too loud in his ears. 

Strangers in the garden of pillars. 

He sprints down the corridor leading away from his chambers, hurried steps falling into place behind him as he closes up to a group of apprentices, disoriented and sleep-drunk.   
“Out of my way!”, he barks and they part before him like the sea at tide, pressing themselves up against the walls. He hears Sehun behind him bellowing out orders to the students, sending them off into the training pits - somewhere far enough inside the temple to be safe.  They’re too young to fight, if this is a heist against the brotherhood, not trained well enough to fight alongside the masters. They would be nothing but a hindrance.  
“Flank them.”, Jongdae instructs the younger master behind him, throwing out an arm towards where the corridor narrows into a set of stairs that leads to the roof of the temple.   
  
“Get Seungwan and Soojung and grab a bow.”  
  
Sehun nods, pulling away from him and disappearing into the shadows. They billow behind him, misty and velvety soft as they hug the retreating form. Jongdae doesn’t stay to watch.   
He ducks through a doorway, already feeling for his dagger, hastily shoved into his sash - but safely hidden underneath the layers of red fabric. There are footsteps coming his way, somewhere from within the temple and Jongdae knows it’s Yixing. Nobody else would be at the quarters of the hidden ones, ready to fight. Nobody but Yixing.  He doesn’t wait for the other assassin to catch up, just quickens his sprint until he’s able to slide through the sand gathered by the pillars of the main gate. His back hits one of them, his body melting against it while he waits, breath held and head turned into the garden to listen for any sound. 

There.

It’s faint, but there are steps coming up towards the temple, dragging through the sand the wind has blown across the stones of the path. A man, Jongdae thinks while he closes his eyes, then leans further into the pillar and angles his body to the right. A single man, he corrects himself quietly and then feels a tap against his forearm. It’s Yixing, ducked low into the long shadow of the pillar, scarf pulled up across the lower half of his face. He holds up a hand, one finger raised and Jongdae nods, balls a fist and signals Yixing to wait. A single man is no match for him and they both know it.  And while Yixing himself is a master of their creed, he knows Jongdae is aching for a fight.   
He’s been locked up in the temple for too long, itching with the lust for blood creeping under his skin.   
Yixing cocks his head to the side, eyes flickering over the empty path before them and then waves a hand, fingers pointing into the darkness with his pinky pulled against the palm.  
“Go”, it means and Jongdae snaps forward like an arrow off the string, sprinting across the sand and into the next shadow, pulling the darkness up around himself to conceal his body. The moon is shining too brightly, throwing white light across the pathway and Jongdae curses.  The hooded figure dragging itself up towards the temple is small, maybe roughly around his size. But there are lines of muscles beneath the clothes, the way the man walks even despite obvious exhaustion speaks of training.  Jongdae darts forward, grabbing the figure by the collar and hurling him to the side, trying to slam the man against the pillar he was hiding behind - but he can’t. An elbow hits his upper arm, trying to break his hold and he hears himself snarl, tightening his grip and throwing his body into the throw, managing to catapult them both against the pedestal. He hears a muted groan, but the shock of impact doesn’t slow him down for long. Jongdae manages to duck a punch, turning away and readying himself for a kick against the man’s chest. Something in the back of his head notes the way the cloaked figure holds his left hand cradled against his body. 

He falters in his kick, instead throwing himself forward to punch a hard fist against the man’s forearm, just underneath the elbow, using the momentum to wrap his fingers into the other’s shirt and yank.   
It’s enough to get the cradled, protected hand off the man’s body, enabling Jongdae to catch it between his own fingers, closing his fist.  The scream he earns is both satisfying and unsettling. Something spikes down his spine, lightning-sharp and hooking into his stomach. He knows that voice.  He’s still crushing the man’s fingers, hears and feels the bones shift underneath the skin, but the other brings up his free arm even though Jongdae can see his knees buckling. He readies himself for an attack - that never comes. Instead he watches shaking fingers wrap around the silver needle holding his collar closed, pulling it out to offer it to Jongdae as if it’s a token of invaluable merit.

“Joohyun sends me.”, the man breathes out. “She- Jongdae will know.”

He barely catches the falling body before it hits the cold sand underneath their feet.   
  
  
“Who  _ is  _ he?”  
“That’s Joohyun’s needle. Where did he get it?”  
“Jongdae, how does he know you?”  
“Let me kill him, he’s with the order. Can’t you see his emblem tattoo?”  
“How did he find us?”   
“What if he killed Joohyun?”  
“He’s a  _ spy _ ! Kill him, Han, before he poisons us with his venomous lies.”  
  
“Enough!”, Hangeng suddenly yells into the chaos of voices and Jongdae tenses where he stands next to Yixing, fists balled by his sides and around the silver needle, eyes fixed on Baekhyun’s cowering, kneeling form.   
He’s shaking - with both rage and confusion. He knows all eyes are on him. He can feel it. But so are Baekhyun’s and it unsettles him even more. It reminds him of Jisoo, of her silent, begging gaze while she was on her knees in the very same spot Baekhyun sits now.   
“Jongdae, can you explain?”, Hangeng’s voice cuts through the fog of his thoughts and he snaps his head up, staring at the creed master with unyielding eyes.   
“What is there to explain?”, he asks right back and sees Hangeng’s jaw set in anger.   
“Is he the man you saved, just as he claims to be? And if he is, can you explain to us all, why you saw the need to save the life of a son of the sun?”   
There’s a heavy pause and Jongdae knows there will be swords at his throat, if he doesn’t choose his words carefully. His eyes wander across the gathered masters, across their confused, tense faces.   
Seungwan and Soojung seem to be disgusted at best, whenever they look down at Baekhyun, but there is so much hatred directed at the soldier on the ground, Jongdae feels the sudden need to step forward.   
Direct their attention at himself instead of Baekhyun.  
  
“This member of the order is not like the others.”, he says then, slowly and calculated and watches a ripple of outrage breaking through the crowd gathered.   
There aren’t many masters in the temple, but it’s enough to unleash a storm of yells and hisses. They are so loud, Yixing’s voice next to him is barely audible, his words lost in the thunder of their scandal.   
“Let him explain.”, Jongin suddenly whispers and even though his voice is faint, the noise quiets immediately.  The blind prophet sits dapper, hands braced on either side of himself on the armrests of his chair, his unseeing eyes looking straight ahead. The scars surrounding them shimmer silvery in the little light that falls through the ceiling, the rays of moonlight dancing across the golden inlays across the marble floor. He looks sleep-ruffled, his hair sticking up at the back of his head and even while his upper body is naked and he wears nothing but a wrinkled pair of linen pants, he’s a sight to behold. The muscles that once ran sinewy beneath his skin have bulked, filling out his form so he barely fits into his chair - even his paralyzed legs seems to be twitching with muscle.   
  
The entire room stills, breaths held as they all look over at their prophet where he sits beside Minseok, who’s reclined in a richly adorned thone, one ankle braced on his knee, fingers drumming along his bottom lip. He looks curious, not confused, and Jongdae feels himself shiver.  Even Baekhyun seems to hold his breath, his shoulders drawn and head ducked, fingers balling in the fabric of his cloak. He looks like one of them, Jongdae thinks even though the thought comes carefully. Those are clearly clothes handed to him by a member of the brotherhood - and Joohyun’s needle only further cements his testament. If only it weren’t for this strikingly light hair.   
And yet there are more questions than answers and Jongdae draws a deep breath, trying to relax himself before he says:   
“This one listens. I had to save him from his own order. And this is, without doubt, Joohyun’s needle. You can’t see, prophet, but he is wearing a set of brotherhood garments. I suspect it was our sister who gave them to him, for a reason I myself do not know. You should ask the son of the sun yourself.”  
Jongin cocks his head to the side, white eyes blinking once before they fix at a point right above Jongdae’s head. He looks thoughtful, for only a moment, before he mutters: “So speak then, stranger. But choose your words carefully. I will not hold back the wrath of my people, if I sense a lie in your tales. We have lost many good sisters and brothers under the swords of your order.”  
“They are not my order.”, Baekhyun bites out and Jongdae shoots him an angry look. The soldier lifts his chin and there is the man Jongdae remembers from their days spent in the safehouse.   
Perhaps he could never forget the way the other met his eyes, always without the slightest hint of hesitation or shyness. Weeks after, Jongdae still remembers.   
“It is true. The assa- Jongdae.” He pauses, releasing a shaky breath. “Jongdae saved me when my own blood brother came for my head. Twice. I owe him my life.”

“So you think it would be a good idea to come here?”, Hangeng asks, voice cutting and the masters shift again, hissing like snakes. “Do you think we would let you fuel us into attacking the order so you could have some sort of revenge?”  
“Hangeng.”, Minseok speaks up and the creed master sneers. “I do not think the boy was done talking yet. Hold your tongue. All you do is pour oil into the already troubled fires of our masters. Silence.”  
Jongdae would laugh, if his eyes weren't trained on Baekhyun the way they are. There it is again, this echo deep inside of him while they hold gazes - and for whatever reason it might be, it seems to give Baekhyun the strength he didn’t have before to straighten on the ground and steady is trembling voice.   
“I do not seek revenge. The brotherhood is the only place where I will gain answers to my questions. If you send me away, I will not fight you. My intention to come here was never something else than to find- find the reason why my heart is filled with darkness. The order was my life. I… I believed in them. Even when my brother tried to kill me and fed my elders lies, I believed in them. Until they came to torture me. Jongdae’s mercy set loose their hatred towards me and it was your sister Joohyun, who came to rescue me.” His swallow is loud, Adam’s apple bobbing, when his words kickstarts another wave of protests. It’s Jongin, again, who quiets them down with one raised hand.   
“So if it was our beloved and dearly missed Joohyun, who came to your aid.”, the prophet starts silently and Minseok angles himself on his throne, eyes shining with intriguement. “Where is she?”

Baekhyun swallows again, coughs. 

He must be half dead with thirst, Jongdae catches himself thinking and balls his fist tighter around the needle in his hand, until it bites into his palm. Curse this man and curse him tenfold for coming here.   
“She left me to travel the desert with a caravan. They took me with them to the great ruins of Antaryan, where I started my search for the temple the way Joohyun taught me. She said to follow my healing mother.”  
“Follow the sun.”, Yixing whispers and this time there is no uproar amongst them. Only dreading silence. One could cut it with a knife - the way the masters start moving, how their heads turn towards their prophet and creed master and the god in their middle.  Minseok’s lips are curled at the corners, his thumb dragging his bottom lip to the side, a trickle of black sand running along his nail. But his eyes aren’t on Baekhyun, they are on Jongdae. 

It’s a brief moment, the wicked glint of the dead god’s eyes. Then it’s gone and the man’s attention is back on Jongin, who sits frozen in front of him, face empty and eyes directed to a place far beyond their reach.   
“Jongin.”, Minseok breathes and the man startles, hands gripping tightly onto the armrests underneath his palms. “What is your verdict.”  
Jongin doesn’t speak for a very long moment. He just sits and thinks and Jongdae can feel the tension rise in the room.   
“We should kill him.”, Seungwan spits into the quiet and Jongdae catches Sehun drawing his dagger, ready to strike. It’s hatred, welling up inside of him, hard and hot. If anybody has the right to kill Baekhyun, it’s him.   
“He could be a spy.”, Han endorses and a couple of voices echo his words. “He’s a risky wager.”  
  
“Why did you come here?”, Jongdae hears himself ask and feels Yixing grip his arm tightly. “Baekhyun. Tell me. Why did you come here?”  
At first, nothing happens. And then, as if Jongdae’s question was the last knife cutting through the soldiers self-control, he grits out in a rush, words tumbling over each other: “I don’t know who I am anymore. They-”   
He breaks off, simply reaches out to undo his cloak and let it slip off his shoulders, revealing naked arms underneath. It’s Seungwan, who reacts the most violent to the sight before them.   
Baekhyun kneels there, head low and eyes on the floor while he holds out both his hands, his broken fingers in their splints twitching. He’s offering himself up to them. To kill or spare.   
“Barbarians.”, Seungwan hisses and Soojung has to grip her arms to steady her. “He’s one of their own! Brothers! Sisters! If we didn’t know already, now we have proof. The order is an abomination, rotten to the core! Look at what they did to one of their own adepts. May the dead gods rip them apart and burn their bones so they will never find the way into the afterlife.”

“Be quiet, sister.”, Tao whispers behind her and Seungwan instantly goes limp in Soojungs hold, turning her head away into her sisters neck. It must hit her hard, Jongdae muses with a grim smile.   
To finally have proof of how twisted and rotten the order is.  Her brothers fell under their swords, her parents burned in front of her eyes, leaving her an orphaned child with the only way of survival being to sell her own, twelve year old body to an assassin as a whore. Hangeng took her in, instead of using her. And perhaps there is no one hating the order with as much vigor amongst them, as Seungwan.

“You’re lost.”, Jongin asserts, but Baekhyun doesn’t move, still proffering himself to the waiting masters, who are quiet in their disgusted shock.   
“And Joohyun sent you to us. But we have no way of asking her and sending an eagle would take days, so we can confirm your words.”

Another pause. 

They are all used to Jongin’s way of speaking by now, his thoughts nothing but shards that flicker through the voices of the gods whispering to him.   
“If one of my masters volunteers to be your mentor and another to warrant for you, I will allow you to become part of the brotherhood. Temporarily of course. You have to remain in the temple, unless your mentor grants you freedom to leave or go with them. You will have to study hard, to forget the teachings of the order and gain knowledge of the sacred creed, given to us by the dead gods. Baekhyun, you will always be branded by your past and the doings of the people you followed. But if there is someone willing to forge you into something new, I will not hesitate to grant you a place in the middle of the brotherhood.”  
Jongdae waits - waits for the masters to sneer and start yelling again - but there is no movement, no sound. Baekhyun doesn’t even look up, but from where Jongdae stands, he can see tears running down the soldier’s cheeks. They look hollow, sunken in from the days of pain he surely endured.  And yet, despite his broken fingers and maltreated body, he made it through the desert to find them.

“I will be his mentor.”, he decides then loudly, words punctuated and hard. There is no room for discussion if he made a decision.   
He is one of the aspirants after all, skin white and eyes nearly drained of all their color.   
There isn’t much anymore, dividing him from Minseok’s status.  
“Too risky of a wager.”, Jaejoong mutters somewhere in the crowd and all their faces are drawn and strained. They will kill him, if there is no one willing to warrant for him.   
“Anybody?”, Jongin asks into the room, but still no one answers him. “His sentence will be death, if none of you step forward to welcome him. Is your hatred so deep, you are not willing to do this for a beggar, who comes knocking at our doors?”

“I will be his surety.”, come the dreaded, oh so anticipated words and Jongdae nearly opens his mouth to disagree. It’s Minseok, sitting there with a smug smile adorning his dark, ghostly features.   
And his eyes are still on Jongdae’s face when his smile smoothes into a smirk, predatory and lurking.   
  
  
It should bother him, how much calmer he feels, with no one around but Jongdae.  
It _should,_ but it doesn’t. After days of stumbling through the desert - after leaving behind everything he ever knew in his life - he feels worn thin, like a piece of parchment. His soul feels tired.   
And the sight of Jongdae alone, standing in the middle of black-hooded, pale figures was like a soothing balm to the burns across his mind. It’s a twisted though and Baekhyun is aware of it.   
But for a moment it felt like no one was ever this honest with him, but the assassin. Not even his best friend - Junmyeon - was honest, what with him not only concealing his relationship with an assassin, but letting Baekhyun run into an open sword, even though he could have prevented him from doing so. Jongdae’s cold stare, the way his dark eyebrows knitted together, the grim line of his mouth while he looked down on Baekhyun - all those things were certain and true. There was no lie between them before. Why should there be any, now?  
  
No, Baekhyun is sure, the assassin never had a reason to lie to him. 

And now, sitting on his haunches with his broken fingers wrapped into new, clean bandages and a low table in front of him filled with rich, succulent meals, he isn’t so sure if this really was a good idea.  
Coming here, after he barely made it out of the order alive.  Did he really have a choice, though?  
  
He catches himself tensing every time someone enters the room, lading the table with even more food, jugs of wine, beer and water. It should probably be Jongdae’s angry face above him that should make him tense up. The assassin stands in front of the table, wearing nothing but a pair of tight, soft-looking leather pants, a sturdy matching collar hanging around his shoulders and partly over his chest. He looks livid, with the way his features are thunderous, the corners of his mouth pulled down and his eyebrows knitted together above his dark, dark eyes.  Were they always this dark, or did they lose even more color since Baekhyun last saw him?

“I-”, he starts and then breaks himself off, swallows roughly around the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry.”  
“Eat.”, Jongdae instructs him harshly, but doesn’t turn - doesn’t even move a single muscle, just keeps his arms crossed over his chest and his face tilted down towards Baekhyun is sitting on a fur pillow. 

“Bu-”

“I said eat.”, the assassin cuts off his sentence, shooting an angry glance at the young girl, who tiptoes her way back into the chamber to bring one final, high-stacked plate of bread.   
She ducks her head, mutters a quick apology and nearly tips over the plate when she sets it just so on the edge of the table in her haste to get away from the furious master.   
“Why are so angry? She didn’t do-”  
“I am not angry.”, Jongdae snaps, a pause between each carefully punctuated word. “If I were angry, you would not be sitting there, eating. You would dangle off the temples roof by your feet.”  
“Is that so?”, Baekhyun shoots right back, defiantly staring back and reaching for a piece of bread with purpose. “Then why are you not making good on your threat?”  
Jongdae’s jaw works, his lips curls. “Because I am not angry.”  
“Liar.”, he mutters back around a mouth full of bread, crumbs falling down his chest. It has Jongdae sneering even deeper at him, his forearms pulling taut with muscles.   
“You do know that I literally hold power over your life now, don’t you?”, Jongdae hisses and this time, his body moves. It’s just a tiny step forward, but it’s enough for Baekhyun to scoot backwards on his pillow, taking his piece of bread with him. He chews slowly, keeping his eyes on Jongdae, ready to defend himself if the other should attack him. He’s walking on eggshells now and he knows it. 

Around all of them. 

Jongdae suddenly heaves a sigh.   
  
It’s a full-bodied, exhausted sound and Baekhyun stops his chewing, carefully watching as some of the tension bleeds out of Jongdae’s shoulders.   
The man looks tired, running a hand down his face with an exasperated sound of annoyance.   
"Eat.”, he instructs Baekhyun again, pointing a finger down at the dishes and jugs between them.   
“Lalisa and Jimin will assist you in bathing and properly cleaning yourself. After that you will sleep and tomorrow night I will start your training.”  
Baekhyun nearly chokes on his sip of water, sputtering as he directs his eyes back up at Jongdae again. He wipes at his mouth, grimacing and Jongdae grimaces right back at him.   
“Tomorrow night? You know my fingers are broken, assassin. How am I supposed to train like this?”  
Jongdae raises an eyebrow, folding a hand behind his back elegantly. The smile on his lips is nothing but smug, when he answers: “As a member of the brotherhood, you have to be able to fight with one hand only. You might get injured in a fight and what are you planning on doing if that happens? Surrender? That is not an option for us.”  
He’s got a point, but Baekhyun doesn’t plan on telling him. Instead he grumbles into the jug, averting his gaze. He chokes when, instead of a goodbye, Jongdae tells him:   
“And we are both assassins now, Baekhyun. Perhaps you should get used to calling me Jongdae. Or master.”  
He glowers after the other man, tempted to throw his water jug to where Jongdae disappeared behind a curtain of beads and long strips of red fabric.   
  
  
  
The setting sun casts a red sheen across the sandy circles of the training room, the light interrupted by the wandering clouds chased across the sky by the whipping winds that bring the dreaded sandstorms. Soon, they will not be able to leave the temple for at least a week, the apprentice wing flooded with the rage of the desert. He lets his eyes travel over the carefully painted circles, watches fine trickles of sand wander across the floor. 

For once, Baekhyun is silent. 

He enters the room in silence - albeit he looks uncomfortable in his own skin - just behind Jisoo, whose face is stony and drawn.   
She holds out an arm to stop the soldier from entering further, pointing to the middle of the room for him to stand in one of the smaller circles.   
“Can I just remind you…”, Baekhyun starts hesitantly as soon as his eyes find Jongdae, leaned against the wall just behind a beam of red light falling onto the floor. “That my fingers are still broken?”  
Jongdae clicks his tongue, pushes off the wall to step forward. Jisoo finds her place at his side instantly, her hands folded in front of her lap, her eyes trained onto Baekhyun with the same hard, emotionless stare. Her left, milky eye has healed enough for the lid to fully open, but it’s evident that she still isn’t entirely used to the restricted field of vision. She keeps blinking, eyes shooting back and forth across Baekhyun’s pale, almost frightened face.   
“I told you yesterday.”, Jongdae says and takes another step forward to grasp Baekhyun’s arm and inspect his clouted fingers. “That you will have to fight with only one hand. You are used to fighting with a sword, aren’t you?”  
Baekhyun nods mechanically, eyes squinted. But he lets Jongdae bend his arm backwards, until his fingers are savely laid against his lower back. Out of reach and surely out of imminent danger.

“Yes.”, Jongdae voices Baekhyun’s gesture, making sure to position his shoulder the correct way so there is no strain on the muscle. “Your stance should be a little wider. Like this-” He hooks a foot into the hollow of Baekhyun’s knee and tugs, throwing him off balance. Baekhyun yelps, staggers for a moment but catches his balance before he lands on the floor, glaring at Jongdae, who raises his eyebrows into a pointed look.  
“If your stance is too narrow, your weight won’t be centered the right way.”, Jongdae tells him while pivoting on his heel and walking back to the wall with slow, measured steps.   
“Am I supposed to just stand here the entire time now?’”, Baekhyun asks, turning his shoulder the way Jongdae did before. The assassin shakes his head, flicking his wrist in a careless motion.  
Jisoo instantly steps forward, tucking her own left hand behind her body, legs sliding into the perfect stance instinctively.   
“No.”, Jongdae tells him with a smile that looks like a tiger just before it pounces on its prey.   
“Today, you’re going to fight my dear Jisoo here. She will teach you, that even an apprentice of the brotherhood is able to easily defeat an adept of the order.”  
  
  
Baekhyun is bruised and sore when he finally returns to his room, his shoulders aching. There are large, dark spots forming underneath the skin of his arms and chest only minutes after Jongdae finally sent him off to sleep in the wee hours of the morning. When he falls into his bed, face buried deep into his pillow, he tries to remember why he came here.  
  
  
Jongdae teaches him slowly, shaping what he already knows into something that falls into place with the way the master teach their apprentices. Fighting Jisoo gets easier with each passing day, the patterns of her movements painting themselves in the back of his eyelids at night, when he soaks in his pain and the short moments of self-pity he allows himself to have. But despite the steel in the assassin’s voice, he is patient with Baekhyun, adjusting the grip he has on the long dagger the brotherhood normally uses over and over again until his fingers wrap around the hilt on pure instinct. His fingers heal, slowly.  
His body adapts, although his mind takes longer to do the same.   
  
“Stance.”, Jongdae corrects him without even glancing his way when he strides into the circular training room, looking down at the thick, leather-bound book he carries in one hand, flipping pages with the other.   
“Your spine is too straight, your core not centered correctly.”  
“Yes, I know.”, Baekhyun snaps and finally has Jongdae’s attention, who looks up at him with both eyebrows raised high and his eyes sharp. “Then why do you not stand correctly? I’ve showed you countless times.”  
“You mean you let me fight against your student countless times.”, Baekhyun tells him sharply and Jongdae’s face twists into a frown.   
There’s an angry line between his eyebrows, hard and angry and Baekhyun feels a bead of sweat rolling down the back of his neck.   
“Do you want to face me, instead?”, Jongdae asks him and his voice is nothing but predatory.   
“Is that what you want? Jisoo is on the same level as you are right now, Baekhyun. You can easily fight her without endangering your fingers. Before I can properly teach you, they have to heal.”

“Stop treating me like a toddler, Jongdae.”, Baekhyun shoots back and this time Jongdae reacts so violently, he stumbles away from the other man, who twists a hand into the front of his black shirt and keeps him securely in place.   
“Listen here now, little soldier.”, the assassin hisses and the black of his eyes swirls, his irises expanding and wavering around the edges with his anger.   
“You are nothing but a toddler in the eyes of the brotherhood. A blind, drooling, babbling toddler. The order is _blind_ to the world and so are you.”  
He shoves Baekhyun away then, viciously, fixing him with a stare so hard, Baekhyun feels like a butterfly pinned down to a wall by a needle.   
“Stance!”, Jongdae barks and he obeys, if only to avoid the look out of those terrible, dark eyes.   
  
  
“No dagger training today?”, Baekhyun quips, flexing his fingers in Jongdae’s warm, unyielding hold.  
Jongdae only shoots him a quick look over his shoulder, only to turn back to the narrow, slippery staircase in front of them again. “No.”  
“Are you finally sick of me? You know… you threatened to kill me.”, Baekhyun muses out loud and feels Jongdae’s fingers tighten around his palm, squeezing silently in warning. He slips, steadies himself on the wall and hears the assassin snort in front of him. He glares at the back of the other’s head, narrowing his eyes, but Jongdae doesn’t comment on it.   
“No?”, he asks loudly, but Jongdae doesn’t react, only leads him further down the stairs despite the corridors flanking off left and right. “Then where exactly are we going?”  
“It’s funny, really.”, Jongdae says suddenly and Baekhyun snaps his mouth shut at the amused undertone lacing the other’s voice.   
“How easily you run your mouth, as soon as you’re not tired and beaten up. I think that will change after I’m done with you today.”

“That-”, Baekhyun starts, stutters for a moment and tries to wrestle his hand out of Jongdae’s hold that suddenly feels, as if it’s burning straight through his skin. “Nevermind.”

Jongdae only snorts again, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.   
“A student who talks, instead of listening, will not be able to hear their teacher’s words.”, Jongdae tells him eventually and lets go of his hand, as soon as they step off the final flight of stairs and out into a large, open space. Baekhyun, with an answer at the tip of his tongue, stays mum.  They’re standing at the beginning of a cave, wide and so high the ceiling is nearly invisible, adorned by stalagmites, dripping water. The rush of water Baekhyun heard earlier is louder now, so close he can taste the water on his lips when he nervously runs his tongue over them.  A couple hundred feet in front of them, he can see the flicker of fire - torches and braziers, casting a bright glow across the walls of half-crumbled houses and towers that rise from the stone almost all the way up towards the ceiling. 

“What is this place?”  
  
“Always so many questions.”, Jongdae chuckles next to him and starts walking again, apparently used to the awe the sight before the strikes inside of people’s minds.   
“Come. Careful where you step. The river’s spindrift has the moss growing down here.”  
“Again.”, Baekhyun calls after him, hurrying to fall into step beside the other man. “Where are we?”  
Jongdae hums, fetching a torch from one of the walls they pass, lifting it high so he can see where they are walking, turning this way and that, leading Baekhyun deeper into the muss of houses and towers. They are ruins, Baekhyun realizes, long forgotten and abandoned, but well kept. Everything that surrounds him seems to be clean of any moss or weed that might be growing in the cave, stairs carefully re-chiseled after thousands of feet smoothed them down.   
“This”, Jongdae finally starts while he climbs a set of steps, setting the torch down inside of a brazier that burns on the roof of the small hut, half of the roof broken in but stable. “Is the old temple. The cradle of the brotherhood. It’s the home of our ancestors, the first old gods to step out of the rows of us assassins. Abandoned, when the sand gave us the temple above the cave.”  
“It’s the water supply of the oasis.”, Baekhyun deducts and Jongdae nods next to him, a slight tug to the corners of his lips. “The river feeds the wells and the baths.”  
“Yes.”, Jongdae confirms and then starts untying the sash around his middle. Baekhyun watches him, a confused crease between his eyebrows. When the assassin starts peeling out of his robes, he draws in a breath, rushing out:   
“What exactly are you doing?”

“Training you.”, Jongdae answers with a shrug and drops his robe to the floor, kicking it to the side with the wad of his sash. “It’s easier to move, like this.”  
“Excuse me?”, Baekhyun nearly wheezes, trying not to look at all the stark white scars and startling black runes tattooed all over Jongdae’s body. They stand out even against the pale of his skin.   
Jongdae cocks an eyebrow, rolls his eyes and then points to the edge of the roof.   
“I will teach you how to move like an assassin. How to run like us, crest walls as if you’ve done nothing else your entire life.”  
“You mean, you’re going to-” He pauses, follows Jongdae’s outstretched arm towards a tower in the distance, where he can see a red flag softly moving in an unseen breeze. “Jump across the roofs?”  
“Of course.”, Jongdae tells him with an annoyed quirk to his lips and Baekhyun sends him a poisonous look of his own.   
“I can’t do that with my hand. And running would be faster.”

“Do you think so?”, Jongdae asks him, leaning to the side with his arms slowly crossing over his chest. “How about you race me to the flag then, hm?”  
“Alright.”, Baekhyun tells him easily and walks backwards, the hint of a grin gracing his lips. “What do I get if I win the race?”  
“Another lesson.”, Jongdae replies with a smirk and Baekhyun feels a shiver starting at the base of his spine. This is the smirk he remembers from the night they faced each other for the first time - an animal trapped in the flesh of a man, clawing at the cage of Jongdae’s bones.  He hops down the stairs easily, turning towards the tower and looks back up to where the assassin meets his eyes from the rooftop, just at the edge.   
“You better give this your all. I was the fastest sprinter of my class in the order.”, Baekhyun adds fuel to the challenge, knowing that he is wading in dangerous waters here. But the absence of Jisoo by their side - the absence of her stare on him, of the beginning black of her eyes always following his every move - has him feeling reckless.  Jongdae feels all too familiar to him now, surrounded by all those things that are oh so strange to him. 

The man doesn’t answer him, only rolls his eyes and turns away. He stands straight, where Baekhyun ducks into the start of a sprint. 

It’s the slight movement of Jongdae’s arm that lets him dart forward, throwing his body into a sprint that has the muscles in his thighs protesting painfully from the exercised the assassin had him repeating over and over again the day before.  Out of the corner of his eye he sees Jongdae moving too, running towards the edge of the roof and then catapulting himself up into the air in a similar fashion Baekhyun saw Joohyun do when she jumped at Donghae, crashing into him like a cannonball. Thighs pumping upwards, Jongdae’s knees nearly touch his chest as he crosses the gap between two houses, easily setting himself in front of Baekhyun, who swings himself around into a narrow alley, only catching sight of Jongdae as a black shadow on top of the houses.   
  
He speeds up when he sees the assassin running up against a wall, twisting as he pushes off of it, grabbing onto an old pole protruding from the stone, his body swinging backwards and then pulling itself up so he can use it as a step on his way up the house. He moves smooth, fluid even with the way he jumps, the muscles of his back flexing and aiding his arms in pulling himself up and over the edge of the house.   
It’s this moment, Baekhyun regains the upper hand. Jongdae is slow even though he moves as if he’s done nothing his entire life but cross gaps between buildings, jumping and rolling off like a cat.   
But he’s climbing up, while Baekhyun is running straight on the ground, making several feet before Jongdae re-appears next to him.   
He drops from above, into the pooling shadows at the foot of a tower, vanishing again by running up a wall once again - and out of Baekhyun’s field of vision. He curses, pushes himself to run faster, faster and faster still while he tries to listen for the other’s movements over the sound of his rapidly beating heart and heavy breathing. The blood rushes in his ears, he feels sweat dotting his hairline and starting to mix with the spindrift of the river. He slips on his next turn, skittering on a wet patch of slick floor, barely catching himself with his healthy hand and on one knee. 

It robs him of his advantage, if only for a second. 

But it’s enough for Jongdae’s shadow to appear above him and for a moment he thinks the other will bounce down on him like a hawk on a mouse in the field. He’s transfixed, only for a second, by the way Jongdae’s body moves as they sprint together - one on the ground the other up on a roof, yet still side by side. He looks as if he’s not even the tiniest bit exhausted, while Baekhyun is already drenched in sweat and gasping for air. 

There. 

A right turn, back towards the tower and the flag, while Jongdae has to take a long curve around a crumbled ruin. Faster, he tells himself silently, he has to be faster if he wants to beat Jongdae.  
His body obeys, his muscles pumping and screaming at him in anger, but he gains speed - and it’s enough to propel him into the open space in front of his destination, his feet slipping to a halt as he curls his hand around the top of the flag and _tugs._ It comes loose easily and Baekhyun holds it up in a balled fist in victory.   
  
He can hear Jongdae dropping to the ground behind him, a heavy thud as the other man lands gracefully on his feet and hands, body smoothing out into a strong, broad line as he stands.  
“I won.”, Baekhyun tells him with a smug smile, holding the flag out to him. “My way is faster.”  
Jongdae only grins at him, wicked and dangerous and the smile slips from Baekhyun’s lips. He feels cold as the assassin advances on him, slowly but surely. T  
he attack comes so fast, Baekhyun’s exhausted, thundering mind doesn’t even see it coming. 

“Yes”, Jongdae tells him, voice muttering into his ear even while Baekhyun’s world turns and he crashes onto his back, all air pressed from his lungs.   
He wheezes, clutches his chest as he struggles to breathe and Jongdae squats down next to him, plucking the flag off the ground.   
“You won and got the lesson I promised you.”, the man smiles down at him, dabbing at the sweat in his face and hair with the red cloth he holds between his terribly, cursedly calm fingers. “The lesson, little soldier… You might have been faster than me. But you’re so exhausted, you couldn’t even try to fight me. Being the first one isn’t always a good thing. Take your time, exhaust your prey and you will be successful in your hunt.”  
  
“Ass.”, Baekhyun wheezes out. “I’m not your prey.” 

The sound of laughter has never sounded so soothing and unsettling to him ever before.   
  
  
Yixing is the first to approach Baekhyun.  
He does it carefully, walking up to Jongdae’s side while he watches over Baekhyun practicing with bow and arrow, the feathered shaft held clumsily between his still splinted fingers.   
Yixing has always been his friend, but the other man’s presence by his side has him tensing, his arms pulling taut were they are crossed over his chest as he studies Baekhyun’s form and technique, lips pursed. He waits for Yixing to speak, but his brother just stands there, silently observing the son of the sun before them, his own bow braced on the tip of his boot and carefully balanced against his palm. He looks relaxed, perfectly at ease but Jongdae is sure he can feel him tense and apprehensive next to him. It takes several minutes and a couple of miss-aimed arrows from Baekhyun, for Yixing to finally speak.   
“You know”, he says loudly, catching Baekhyun’s attention easily. It’s not often that someone other than Jongdae talks to him, not even Jisoo spares him a single word. And if the members of the brotherhood do speak with him, there is nothing but distrust and sometimes even aggression in their voices and words. It’s almost as if he’s watching a cat, what with the way Baekhyun angles his head towards the voice, before he turns his eyes at them, blinking in confusion.   
“If it weren’t for your fingers, you might be one of the best archers I’ve ever seen in my life. Even better than myself, if I dare say so.”, Yixing continues without pausing for Baekhyun to speak, whose forehead creases. For a moment Jongdae is sure the soldier won’t answer, but then he replies: “Of course I am. I was trained in archery more than I was trained in sword fighting.”

“We all have our strengths, don’t we?”, the assassin muses and gives Jongdae’s ribs a healthy jab with the tip of his elbow. “Isn’t that right, Jongdae?”  
“Mhm.”, Jongdae only makes, swatting at Yixing’s side in annoyance. The other scoots easily out of his reach, without even tipping his bow to the side. It’s still perfectly held between boot and palm.  
“I already heard you’re a feisty one.”, he says then, eyes twinkling as they flicker over at Jongdae. “He seems to have a knack for collecting the difficult ones.”  
“Yixing.”, Jongdae warns, watching his brother’s face crinkle up in laughter. “That’s enough. You’re distracting him.”  
“Oh.”, Yixing makes and pivots on his heel elegantly, kicking up the bow to catch it with one hand. “And we don’t want that, do we?” He hums, pats Jongdae on the naked shoulder and starts into the direction of his own apprentice, struggling with the string of a crossbow. “He’s already distracted enough as it is, isn’t he, my dear brother?”  
Jongdae sighs, turning his eyes towards the ceiling with his lips pressed together into a tight line. He’s only interrupted in his desperate plea towards the dead gods for the strength not to strangle Yixing right then and there by the silent, all too soft sound of Baekhyun’s snickering.

“What’s so funny?”, he snaps, but the fair haired man isn’t fazed by his imminent anger at all.   
Instead, he meets his gaze the same way he always does, challenging and taunting, filled with defiance - but this time with a soft sense of humor laced into his slowly darkening eyes.   
“You”, Baekhyun begins, breaking out into another fit of snickering. “Just looked as if you wanted to slap that man. What’s his name again? Iiiixing?”  
“Yixing.”, Jongdae corrects him, seething and Baekhyun’s lips start quivering from how hard he’s trying to hold back his laughter. But Jongdae knows he’s about to break.   
“Focus.”, he chides and Baekhyun holds up a hand to soothe him. The next arrow he shoots hits its mark right in the center and Jongdae thinks that perhaps Yixing was right.   
  
  
It’s the one they call Minseok, sitting on the temples roof when Baekhyun arrives there just before sunrise as he was instructed.   
It’s not Jongdae as usual and the sudden absence of his self-proclaimed mentor has him pausing in his step, the sudden need to turn and flee bubbling up inside of him like acid in his esophagus.  
“Come back here, Baekhyun.”, he hears the quiet command as soon as he turns to return to the temple and look for Jongdae. So he is supposed to meet Minseok up here, he thinks bitterly while he follows the voice and sinks to the ground next to where the black haired man sits cross-legged on the cold, soft sand, eyes closed and hands on his knees. He mimics the position, closes his eyes despite the sudden urge to study the man Jongdae called a god when Baekhyun dared to ask. They all seem so scared of him.

Now, sitting next to Minseok on the sand with the sun rising behind them, he can understand why they are - and yet he can’t.   
There’s something oddly calming about Minseok’s quiet, still form next to him, the barely audible sound of his breathing in the silence of the dawn surrounding them.   
“You’re doing well in your training, I was told.”, Minseok says after several minutes of nothing between them. He sounds almost sleepy, the syllables lilting on his tongue. Almost as if there is the hint of the faintest accent when he speaks and yet Baekhyun can’t put his finger on it completely.   
“Who told you?”, Baekhyun asks before he can stop himself and freezes, waiting for Minseok to give him a reason, a proof for why all the members of the brotherhood seem to fear him.   
But the god breathes out a hissing chuckle and when Baekhyun opens his eyes to look over at him, he’s already looking back, as if he expected it. His eyes are almost completely black, he realizes, with only a thin white ring left around his expanded, inky irises. Baekhyun blinks, staring. Minseok does not. They sit there, positioned for the morning meditation, looking at each other for several minutes but not once, does the god in front of him blink.   
“Who do you think told me?”, Minseok eventually asks and breaks away from the way their eyes seem to have locked together. “I don’t need anyone to tell me, but they still do. I can see you’re doing well. Better than a lot of my brothers and sister anticipated or wanted.”

“Am I in danger of getting killed?”, Baekhyun inquiries hesitantly and this time, Minseok takes several heartbeats to react.   
“Perhaps not in the way you think, son of the sun.”, he replies easily and the way he says it has the hair in the back of Baekhyun’s neck rising in horror. It’s light-hearted, almost amused.   
“Did you ask for me to come up here just so you could tell me this?”  
“No.”, Minseok shakes his head and stretches his arms above his head, fingers interlocked and knuckles popping noisily into the peaceful morning. “I requested your presence to teach you.”  
Then, he falls silent again, arms still above his head and his eyes trained on the far horizon, that is still dark with the night, slowly retreating as the dawn’s silvers and yellows make their way across the sky.   
“Do you understand, what the purpose of the brotherhood is? Why the dead gods decided to breathe life into the first assassin?”  
  
“Breathe life into- what?”, Baekhyun gives back and Minseok looks utterly and thoroughly humored by now. His lips twitch, but his eyes don’t move, deep as the darkest lake Baekhyun has ever seen. And still, he doesn’t blink, doesn’t let his arms fall back onto his thighs. His fingers curl up into the sky, as if he’s grasping at the stars, fine wisps of smoke and morning fog slithering between the digits like tiny, living beings. He has seen this before, Baekhyun reminds himself with his thundering heart sitting high in his throat. The old scar in his side throbs at the memory - the memory of snakes of darkness biting into his skin and pulling his flesh shut tightly, preventing him from bleeding out.   
  
Will he ever be able to do this? 

Command the darkness like he’s seen Jongdae and now this alleged god do?  
  
“The first assassin, touched by the dead gods and chosen to become the master of the creed.”, Minseok explains to him, yawning loudly before he continues: “A man, lost in the desert after life had forsaken him. A king, perhaps? A knight of honor? We will never know. Perhaps he was like you, fleeing the order of the sun, or he was a thief and a nobody to the world that spat him out and had him stumbling through the desert.”  
There’s a pause, long and weighted.   
“The man was lost after a sandstorm, so the legend goes.”, Minseok tells him then, bringing his hands down to play with the fog between his fingers as if its a pet instead of pure shadows poured into his palms. “And he fell into the cave you saw underneath the temple, breaking both his legs. But while he was dying of hunger and thirst, he didn’t curse his fate. He didn’t curse the gods or the people who had done this to him. He was thankful, even though he was afraid of death, who he greeted as if they had been friends over wine and bread.”  
  
Another pause, Minseok’s eyes traveling over his face and he shifts, uneasy. 

There is something curious in this gaze, searching and studying as if he’s a curious little thing to the god sitting next to him. It reminds him too much of the way they dissected him in the order, poking around his mind and insides for weeks. He breaks away from Minseok’s face then, looking out into the desert while he lets the other man continue his tale.   
“When the man stood before the gods of the underworld, thirteen in number, he greeted them too as if they were friends. He said his thanks, begged their forgiveness for his wrongdoings and asked them for a single wish, as his death was long before his time had come.”, Minseok goes on, painting runes of black little grains into the sand before him. They slither, meander around Baekhyun.   
“So the gods asked him, what his wish could be and the man answered them with one, simple thing. He told them, they had forsaken mankind, were not leading the fate of the world anymore. He had seen the horrors of pointless wars and death, men rising up to power and fame, while others starved to death with no chance of even saving their children. Four of the gods laughed at him, asking him if he was aware of who he stood before, for they were the guardians of death, not those who brought life. And the man answered them yes, indeed he was aware.”  
Minseok breaks off, wets his tongue across his lips, brushes away lines and lines of runes forming around them, only to form them once again, hands carefully folded in his lap.  
“The four gods laughed at him again, but the other nine stayed mum until one of them asked, if he knew who he was talking to, how he could ask them such a favor. So he said that sometimes only death could change the world, that only the death of those who abused their power, could raise the poor and voiceless up. That sometimes, for something new to bloom, the old world had to perish in fire and flames and fury.”  
It’s as if every pause, every carefully chosen word that Baekhyun listens to, is crafted to perfection, the sun rising behind them bathing them in light as red as blood, the shadows between the dunes as deep as the color between Minseok’s fingers, as the shadows seep from between his fingers and into the sand. Over and over Baekhyun watches them write runes, scatter the grains and start once again - words he doesn’t understand, isn’t able to read and yet he knows there is a deep, old meaning to each and every single one of them. 

“The nine gods who hadn’t laughed, pondered. The other four laughed. Then, the nine said to the man before them, if they would grant him his wish, would he be willing to be their sword, their vessel and messenger. He agreed then, easily. But the four, who did not agree with the man’s words, demanded a say in this as well, arguing that taking a life was against the rules the gods of the light had sentenced over mankind. And for them, as the dead gods, they were not allowed to grant a human immunity against the laws of the living ones.”  
“The healing mother, the singer of the moon, the father of waters and the dancer of fate.”, Baekhyun whispers and Minseok hums in almost proud agreement, nodding his head along to his words.  
"Those are the living gods you’re talking about, are you not?”  
“Indeed.”, Minseok agrees with yet another, curt nod. “So what do you think, happened next?”

Baekhyun draws a breath, opens his mouth and closes it again, pursing his lips before he says: 

“I don’t know.”

Minseok smiles, a little mischievous and yet again oddly proud. He clears his throat, holds out a hand for the black iron grains to return into his palm and then continues:   
“So the four gods declared, for one to become the sword of justice to a god, they must walk along the path of death themselves, so once they find their bitter end, they would take their place in the rows of those who were forsaken by the light. It meant one would have to become a god of death themselves and the man agreed once more. He vowed before them, to become the watcher of world’s true fate, be the hand to reach into the living realm where all the gods were powerless and thus he became the first of the brotherhood, his vows documented on his skin.”  
He waits - waits for Minseok to continue, but the god sits silent and still like a statue once more, eyes closed and his shoulders moving ever so slightly with his breathing.   
As if he fell asleep while talking, Baekhyun thinks and clears his throat nervously.   
“So.”, he begins and Minseok opens an eye to peer at him from behind thick, black lashes. “The brotherhood was created to steer the fate of humankind. But those who try and do that, will eventually become what created them.”  
Minseok opens his mouth, then snaps it shut again. He hums in thought, clicks his tongue once and tilts his head from one side to the other and back.   
“Perhaps, easily put, yes. I see Jongdae finally taught you to listen and think on your own, instead of asking and letting others do the thinking for you, Baekhyun.”  
  
That stings, even though Baekhyun is used to Jongdae’s jibes and reprimands by now. He asks too much, listens too little.   
But out of Minseok’s mouth it sounds like a whip across his already bruised soul. Not as much reprimand as it is a reminder to him that after all, he’s nothing but a member of the order to them, still. A blind toddler, as Jongdae called him two weeks ago.   
“So what’s your role in all of this, then? You’ve reached godhood.”, Baekhyun says and Minseok gets up from where he’s sitting, his shadow a long, twisted figure on the ground. It’s moving, curling and shifting, feathers around his neck where there aren’t any on his body when Baekhyun looks up at him, startled.   
  
“My role in all of this is none of your concern or interest.”, Minseok smiles at him, but it’s like the smile of a rattlesnake. Sweet and dangerous at once.   
“For now. Just a little something, before I leave, Baekhyun. Always remember that Jongdae is not the only one you need to impress. Or should I say, he’s not _the_ one. I am. And I am always watching, through the eyes of the brotherhood. So prove your worth to me, little soldier. Or the brotherhood will have your blood and bones.”  
He leaves then, dragging his feathered shadow across the sand. And despite the warmth of the rising sun illuminating his skin in the brilliant colors of the morning, Baekhyun feels cold and frozen to the very core. The runes on the sand form one last sentence, a grim reminder of the god’s presence next to him. Always watching.   
  
Baekhyun eventually gets up, limbs stiff and tingly as he makes his way down to where he knows Jongdae is already eating breakfast with his apprentice, unaware of the dread curling inside Baekhyun’s guts.   
Now he finally understands, why all of them are scared. 


	8. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning!! Someone is dying in this chapter and it causes emotional distress for one of the characters! 
> 
> Aside from that please enjoy! It's another double update <3 We're almost halfway through the story!

Jongdae awakens to a startled, panicked scream from down the hallway.  
He rolls over in his bed, hand closing around the hilt of the dagger he keeps hidden underneath one of his pillow, just the moment the swings himself up and over the edge, naked feet hitting the cool, clean floor of his chambers. He whips around when he hears the curtain to his room swing open, Jimin appearing in his field of sight and he breathes out slowly, letting the dagger sink to his side and eventually throwing it back onto his bed when he sees the apprentices pale, but calm face.

“Master.”, Han’s student greets him with a bow and Jongdae inclines his head, gesturing for him to speak.   
The young man clears his throat nervously, tugging at the hem of his tunic before he says:  “You should come see your fosterling. He… seems to have lost his eyesight.”  
“He-”, Jongdae starts, feeling sudden fear bubbling in the pits of his stomach. “Lead the way.”  
There are several worried-looking apprentices gathered in the corridor just outside Baekhyun’s room - just close enough for Jongdae to hear them murmuring the moment he exits his chamber, gathered in small groups, whispering to each other. But there is Sehun too, ushering them away with a hard voice and wide-spread arms, as if he’s herding away a bunch of chicken. The other master looks almost relieved when he spots Jongdae walking down the hallway, his head nodding towards the open door where they can hear Baekhyun babbling mindlessly, panic lacing his words and twisting them into a chaotic jumble of random syllables, broken through by sobs. 

“What’s going on here?”, Jongdae asks as he brushes into the room, Jimin hot on his heels.   
There’s Seungwan, kneeling by the side of Baekhyun’s narrow, simple bed, holding the soldier’s hands between her own and she turns instantly upon Jongdae’s entrance.   
“Jongdae is here now.”, she mutters, reaching out to brush a hand over the man’s hair that used to be the brilliant color of ripe wheat and has now dulled down to the shade of dried mud.   
“Come here, brother. Take a look at him. He… seems to have gone blind.”  
“Last night he was able to see just fine.”, Jongdae gives back with a flick of his tongue and then falls silent when he sees the way Baekhyun turns his head towards his voice, but his eyes are trained onto the far wall, somewhere next to the door. Worry etches itself into him with icy cold claws and he stops walking, draws in a deep breath and turns towards where he can see the apprentices and master gathered by the door.   
“Jisoo.”, he says loudly and his student immediately pushes forward through the crowd, stopping just before she enters the room. Her eyes are hard, but shine brightly with waiting as she looks at him.  
There’s a hint of anger flickering over her features when her gaze lands on Baekhyun on the bed, who’s clutching so tightly onto Seungwan’s hands, the woman’s fingers are turning white. But the emotion flickers off her face as quickly as it came, adoration and reverence filling her face the moment she looks back at Jongdae - something close to hopeful waiting brushed over her features.   
  
“Yes, Master?”, she eventually asks and Jongdae wets his bottom lip. 

“Go and fetch Jongin. He needs to take a look at this. Baekhyun really seems to have gone blind over night. We need to make sure it’s not a sickness that could spread through the brotherhood.”, Jongdae instructs her and doesn’t miss the momentary curl of her lip when he says Baekhyun’s name out loud.  She nods, though, retreating into the wad of people outside the door, who start to scatter when Jongdae hears Sehun’s angry voice yelling: “Don’t you have morning training to attend, you useless bunch of bones? Go! Shoo! Don’t make me call for all your masters! Lalisa, take your sister with you to see Soojung in the herb gardens. Do I need to repeat myself? Scatter!”  
“Jongdae.”, Seungwan says silently and he steps forward, lets her pull him down so he’s balanced on the edge of the bed, back brushing against Baekhyun’s quivering thigh.   
“He doesn’t know what’s going on.”, his sister whispers to him and he snorts, giving her a pointed look she answers with one of her own. “Neither do I, Seungwan.”  
“He’s scared.”, she stressed, stopped from adding something else, when Baekhyun hisses:  “I’m right here and not deaf. I can hear just fine.”  
“What happened?”, Jongdae asks and lets Seungwan place Baekhyun’s trembling, cold fingers into his palms. He closes his fingers over them on reflex, rubbing across the other’s knuckles to warm his digits up again, feeling the beginning of callosity forming across his thenar from both bow and dagger. 

“By the gods, if I knew.”, Baekhyun whispers and he sounds breathless, scared. “I… Jongdae I don’t know. I can’t see a thing! Last night - I went to sleep and - Now it’s-”  
“Jongin will know what’s happening.”, Jongdae mutters and stops his moving thumbs, looking up into Baekhyun’s eyes. He catches himself almost missing the brilliant blue he’s grown so used to, now replaced by nothing but white. Thick and cloudy, like milk poured into water. They grew darker and darker with the passing days - the color of cornflowers just the night before when Jongdae bid the other man goodnight as they parted for their respective baths.   
“Will he?”, Baekhyun whispers back. “Did he go blind too? Does that mean I’ll be a prophet now?”  
Jongdae catches himself breathing out a laugh and even though he is all too aware of Seungwan’s eyes on them, he also notices how Baekhyun seems to relax at the sound, his fingers losing some of their cramped-up tension. 

“That’s not how this works, Baekhyun.”

“Well, how am I supposed to know?”, comes the reply and Baekhyun raises an eyebrow at him, even though he’s still looking at the wall. “You never tell me anything that is relevant for me to know.”  
“I didn’t think you’d consider stabbing your own eyes out to become a prophet, Baekhyun.”, Jongdae teases and catches the hint of a flush flickering over the man’s cheeks. “To become the prophet of the brotherhood, or the voiceless guardian… you have to cut out your eyes or tongue, you see. You have to give your voice and sight willingly so you’re able to see beyond what a human ever could and to never speak a lie, just so you can hear the truth.”   
Baekhyun nods along to his words, seemingly soothed by Jongdae’s mere voice next to him. But then he pauses, a grimace curling across his nose and forehead. “That seems rather drastic to me.”  
“Some of us choose a different path than others.”, Jongdae tells him silently, looking over to where Seungwan is straightening her back, her gaze sad and filled with memories.   
“Why did Jongin choose that?”, Baekhyun asks, but neither Jongdae nor Seungwan answer him.   
Their eyes are fixed onto each other, something unspoken passing between as they remember the answer to the question they all asked once.   
“That is hardly something I can tell you.”, Jongdae eventually says slowly, brushing his fingers over Baekhyun’s knuckles one more time before he rips himself away with a clear of his throat.   
“Jisoo and Jongin will be here soon. Perhaps he will tell you, if you ask him yourself.”  
  
  
The prophet doesn’t, looking stressed and worn thin with the dark circles underneath his eyes deeper than they ever were. He looks pale, skin ashen and dry and Jongdae wonders for the first time, if perhaps Minseok’s presence is like a sword hovering above all of them, cutting away at their sleep. And Baekhyun accepts the prophet’s silence, staying mum while Jongin lays a hand across his eyes and then his forehead, feeling for a fever.   
“Your sight will return.”, he says then, finally and pulls away. “Your soul is changing and so is your body. The seed of godhood is starting to bloom inside of you.”  
  
  
Baekhyun stands tall, even though his eyes are wrapped with a piece of cloth, his lips pressed together tightly with concentration. His now healed fingers flex around the grip of his bow, the string aligned perfectly with his forearm while he tilts his head this way and that, searching for the slightest of sound Jongdae makes while he walks across the simple stone floor of the training area.  
“I really don’t think this is a good idea.”, he says then, loudly and Yixing laughs from where he sits perched on one of the broken pillars surrounding the shooting grounds.   
“Well, no one really does.”, the assassin states amusedly, swinging his legs. “Jongdae, are you sure of this? He might hit you with that arrow, you know? He’s blind after all.”  
“Temporarily.”, Jongdae points out patiently, taking measured steps between the targets he has scattered across the shooting grounds. He rams the last into the sand, dusting off his hands and turning towards where Yixing is sitting. “Now shut up. You’re distracting him.”  
“I always seem to do that, no?”, Yixing grins down at him and Jongdae makes a crude gesture his way, turning on his heel so he can stand just beside one of the targets, patting its top with the broad of his palm. The sound seems to startle Baekhyun, although he has gotten used to the magnified volume of movements and sounds, now that his eyes are unseeing. It should pass soon, Jongin told them and Jongdae can already see the color returning to the soldier’s eyes with each passing day. It’s been three since he woke up blinded and panicked. Now, with the white slowly fading, there’s a swirling brown revealing itself between the specks of fog and clouds laid across his face. Sometimes though, it seems as if he’s running his mouth some extra minutes for all the things he can’t see - but he never backs down from Jongdae’s lessons. 

Although they are skipping their races - temporarily, Jongdae always reminds adamantly - but even with his handicap, Baekhyun manages to fight Jisoo to a point where he lands hits where she can’t even touch him anymore. Jongdae is swelling with a weird sense of pride even though he is canny with his praise. And yet, a voice inside his head tells him with bitterness, he’s already praised Baekhyun more than he praised Jisoo ever before. It’s a jab at his ego, that a member of the order so easily surpasses his own apprentice after he taught her for three years. And still, he would never ask of her, what he’s about to ask from Baekhyun.  
“Aim at this target. Just left to my voice.”, he says as loudly and as clearly as he can, Yixing on top of his pillar silent and curiously watching. He’s as still as the rest of the stone surrounding him, eyes flickering back and forth between his brother and the soldier, bottom lip tight between his teeth.   
“You’re officially insane.”, Baekhyun tells him with a gasp, the grip on his bow loosening. “I’m not going to shoot an arrow in your direction when I’m blind.”  
“Do it.”, Jongdae commands him, nearly sounding angry and slaps a hand across the target again. “Now, Baekhyun. You will have to fight enemies in absolutely darkness, too. Your sense of hearing has to be as sharp as your blade and if you can’t even trust yourself, how do you expect the brotherhood to trust you in return? Shoot.”

“What if I hit you?”, Baekhyun whispers and Jongdae shouts: “Shoot!”

Baekhyun draws a sharp breath, raising his bow at the same time as he pulls the string tight, the feathered shaft of his arrow brushing against his cheek.   
“Do it!”, Jongdae demands loudly, eyes trained on Baekhyun with such intent, he knows the other can feel it. He sees it in the quiver of the arrow, of the way his shoulders straighten and just in the moment he yells “come on Baekhyun! Shoot!” the arrow snaps loose.  It hisses through the air, into the absolute and deafening silence between them and hits the target, just next to Jongdae’s chest, who says: “Again.”

“Jongdae, I-”

“Shut your mouth and shoot, by all the thunders across the desert! Are you a coward? Do you not want the brotherhood to trust in you and your abilities? Do it, now.”  
The second arrow hits the wood with such a loud crack, it makes Yixing flinch, almost slipping off his pillar. And then, Baekhyun shoots again, his third arrow hitting the black circle right in the middle of the target - just the fraction of an inch away from his second.   
“Is that enough now?”, the man asks in to the spreading quiet, tossing his bow into the sand by his feet. “Or do you want me to shoot an apple off your head?”  
“That won’t be necessary.”, Jongdae solemnly, reaching for his own bow, leaned against the target to his right. He draws the string, aiming at Baekhyun, who seems to be looking straight at him, calm and standing tall.   
“The target to my right, this time.”, Jongdae instructs him, just as calm as he takes a step to the side, still aiming at Baekhyun. “Let’s see how good you really are. Pick up your bow.”  
Baekhyun doesn’t answer, just works his jaw back and forth while he looks at Jongdae despite not being able to see him. Yixing shifts, the rustling of his robes across the stone almost too loud.   
“Pick. Up. Your. Bow.”, Jongdae says slowly and Baekhyun holds his chin a little higher.   
“No.”, he replies then and Jongdae’s arrow darts from the string. It would hit the other man straight in the chest, probably just above his collarbone, but Baekhyun turns to the side, not even taking a step as the arrows whizzes past his face so closely, it scores his cheek with a bloody scratch. 

Yixing’s whistle breaks the quiet after. 

“Keep going like that.”, Jongdae mutters as he walks towards the slightly taller, touching his wrist as he passes him. “And you might be able to surpass me. You’ve already outperformed Jisoo.”  
“Can I just say”, Yixing starts from above, kicking his feet. “That this was idiotic?”  
Jongdae snorts with chuckles as he walks away from them, leaving Baekhyun and Yixing alone on the shooting ground. He misses the way Baekhyun’s shoulders fall, how his breathing goes quicker for just a second. And how he brings his fingers to the inside of his wrist, just where Jongdae touched him as he walked past.   
  
  
They say, it’s darkest before the dawn and Baekhyun can do nothing but agree with them, now.  
He stands in the middle of the training room, cool and soothing to his skin that is still burning from the mid-day sun, his skin tender to the touch. They’re alone, today.   
It’s making his skin itch, his nerves seem to be aflame with lightning to every touch and every sound. Even more so, when Jongdae is standing so close in front of him right now, they are breathing the same air. The assassin smells like lilacs and soap, just a hint of sweat and hot sand clinging to his skin and Baekhyun finds himself leaning in just that little bit closer, feeling the way Jongdae’s fingers brush through his hair and across his scalp.   
“You should have taken it off, if you’re able to see.”, Jongdae chides him, but there is almost no bite to his words. “We were starting to get worried.”  
Baekhyun wants to ask, if it’s him that got worried, but he bites his tongue, only lifts one shoulder while he lets Jongdae pull the blindfold off his face, squinting and blinking against the bright sunlight that falls into the room through the various holes in the ceiling. It’s nothing but a cave, really, roughly chiseled out of the rock the temple was built out and atop of. The world is blurry around him, flickering in and out of focus but still Jongdae is standing too close.   
“Perhaps I liked the lesson you taught me while you thought I was blind.”, he says easily and Jongdae’s eyebrows shoot upwards, almost vanishing behind his fringe that has grown just a tad too long, brushing across his eyebrows. He looks as stoic as ever, as taunting as he always does, but Baekhyun has to admit to himself that he has grown used to him looking that way -  no, he corrects himself.   
He’s fond of that look by now and Minseok’s words burn through the haze of his thoughts.   
“Well.”, Jongdae shrugs then, stepping away to draw a line between them in the sand with the tip of his foot. “Today we will learn something else.”

“And that would be?”, Baekhyun asks him, challenging and the smile on Jongdae’s lips turns dark, filled with a kind of fire, he has never seen before in the face of the other man.   
His mouth is dry suddenly and he licks over his lips, too aware of the way Jongdae’s gaze follows the sweep of his tongue.   
“Soundless kills.”, comes the slow, deliberate answer and Baekhyun hears himself swallow. “The weakest points of the human body and where to strike, if you want a man to fall without a sound coming off his lips.”  
“I see.”, he mutters back and Jongdae steps in close again, drawing a finger across Baekhyun’s throat in one graceful flick of his wrist. His breathing hitches and he knows Jongdae notices, his eyes darkening even more, the black expanding until it almost swallows all the white left in the assassin’s gaze. There is nearly no space between them anymore, when Jongdae takes another step, pressing his fingers into Baekhyun’s side, right underneath his ribs.   
“The obvious choice would be the throat. Cutting deep enough, of course, will render a man helpless and voiceless. But the liver… Is the organ with the heaviest circulation. Your target will bleed out in a matter of seconds.”, he hears Jongdae rumble and he tries desperately to not curve away from the touch - or worse, curve  _ into  _ it. He nods, lets Jongdae’s hand wander around his side and onto his back, where he presses two fingers to a point next to his spine.   
“The kidneys”, he tells Baekhyun, sounding matter-of-factly. “Aren’t as ideal as the liver, but if you want to secure your kill, slice through the spine and from the kidney into the stomach. Do it from behind, Baekhyun. And if you can, cover your targets mouth while you do it. They will scream, if you don’t.”   
  
“What about the stomach?”, Baekhyun asks and hates how breathless his voice sounds even to his own ears. “Isn’t stabbing someone in the front more effective?”  
“Do you think so?”, Jongdae taunts him and his free hand settles on Baekhyun’s stomach, fingers spread wide and fanning out across his twitching abdominal muscles. “You’ll only hit intestines, here. There is close to no circulation that would be heavy enough for a soundless, quick end.”  
“I see.”, Baekhyun says, but his eyes are on Jongdae’s who answers his gaze without flinching away from it or even blinking. There’s a moment between them, not unlike the one they shared in the safehouse or even in the desert, back when Jongdae was the one to kill both Baekhyun’s master and his own. It’s too hot in here, even though the air felt so soothing to him earlier. And seeing Jongdae after nearly an entire week of nothing but blackness surrounding him, feels as if someone punched him in the face. He never noticed how long the other’s lashes are, how they hit his cheeks whenever he blinks, slowly and challenging even.   
  
“And the heart?”

“Your last resort.”, Jongdae tells him, but he doesn’t turn his eyes away, nor does he move his hands. One of them still presses into his back, into the muscle next to his spine, the other laid out almost comfortably on his stomach. Baekhyun feels himself breathe with the rise and fall of Jongdae’s hand, with his own exhale hitting the dip of his collarbone.  Jongdae’s eyes are so dark, he feels as if he could drown in them - sucked into a swirling vortex or something scalding his skin with vengeance. The assassin breathes in, his tongue brushing across his bottom lip in a hint of pink and Baekhyun surges forward, balling a fist in the black of Jongdae’s robes.  
But Jongdae is already there, fingers digging into his muscles and keeping him still even while the hand he has on Baekhyun’s spine slides up, up, up, until it cradles the back of his neck, gripping his hair. It’s too hard, the way their lips press together, teeth digging into gentle flesh from behind and Baekhyun can taste the wine Jongdae had for lunch, the honey on bread he ate.   
And yet, despite the fact that it hurts, it explains the way Jongdae’s eyes were heavy on him - the way Baekhyun’s body reacted to his voice, his touch while he couldn’t look or touch back.   
It’s Jongdae, who pulls away first and for the first time since Baekhyun met him, there is confusion written all over his sharp, chiseled features. Eyes wide, mouth red from their kiss, the assassin steps back just a fraction and whispers: “Really bad idea.”

“Do you think so, Jongdae?”, Baekhyun gets out through the thundering of his heart he can taste on his tongue. He waits for the other to tell him it was a mistake, for Jongdae to brush away what just happened, but he doesn’t. He just looks at Baekhyun with narrowed eyes, studying him and Baekhyun hopes he can pass the scrutiny.   
“Not now.”, Jongdae finally decides and captures Baekhyun’s chin between his thumb and index finger. He doesn’t kiss him a second time, only locks their gazes together and waits.   
“Another time.”, Baekhyun agrees, although he desperately wants to _disagree_.   
Jongdae nods then, letting him go and stepping away completely. “I have to go watch over-”  
“The apprentices and their afternoon lessons. I know.”  
There’s the hint of a hesitant smile on Jongdae’s lips, as he turns away to leave and all Baekhyun wants to do is reach out and pull him back in. But he doesn’t.   
Instead he follows, breaking off into a different corridor and asks himself it Minseok knew, all along.   
  
  
He rolls over, throws an arm across his eyes - and sighs.  
  
His bed feels too hot, what with the sun down for no longer than an hour, her rays still hunting across the horizon, tinting it a deep, brilliant pink. He bid the rest of the masters an early farewell, retiring to bed with an exhausted body and an even more exhausted mind. Thoughts racing, he turns in his bed since the sun started setting over the desert outside of his chambers, the breeze swooping in between his curtains starting to cool. It should be soothing, he thinks with a scowl. Should be easy to fall asleep. But it’s not and Minseok’s voice rings too clearly inside his head, now that he is alone and everything is silent around him. There was a reason, the god told him over the supper they shared on the god’s patio. A reason why he spared Baekhyun’s life so many times. It’s as if he’s drawn to the man, Minseok said and Jongdae wishes he could disagree. They dance around each other for weeks now - lingering glances and unnecessary touches on both sides. He knows some of the others are aware - Seungwan and Yixing certainly are. They’ve known him for so long, they know every twitch of his mouth, a quirk of his brow. His brother’s been teasing him about it for days already and Jongdae knows he can’t fight back. Because it’s something he struggled to accept for so long, he isn’t even sure anymore, if it didn’t start in the safehouse. So, so many months ago.   
He throws himself around in his bed again, kicks at his blanket and then groans in annoyance, swinging his legs across the edge of the mattress. If there is one thing to calm his mind, perhaps it’s Baekhyun, if only to clarify what happened between them earlier in the training room. When he exits his room, there are faint voices from the master’s area, Soojung’s laughter clear and Han’s teasing loud. At a different time, Jongdae would be with them, joining in on their vespertine meeting, easing the day away. But he’s pulled into a different direction, down the hallway.  
  
He knows Baekhyun should still be awake at this time of the night, diligently reading through the scrolls Jongin provided him with, studying not only the creed but the history of their world as well.  
He’s like a cloth, soaking in all knowledge and perhaps Jongdae should be unsettled by how fast his eyes change, how dark his hair has grown by now. He looks mundane now, all striking colors fallen off of him and leaving behind what is soon to become a master of their creed. As black and white as Jongdae - and if he is being honest with himself, he will miss the color that used to cling to Baekhyun.  
There are a few candles shimmering through the doors of the students, the sound of murmuring voices and silent laughter filtering through the night as he passes the hall.  
Baekhyun’s door is askew and he pushes inside without knocking, the beginning of an explanation already rolling off his tongue before he can stop himself. 

“Baekhyun, can you-”

He’s met with a hoarse groan of pain, a shrill sound of horror as he registers the chaos inside the soldier’s room. The candles Baekhyun keeps burning on his tiny desk while he reads are strewn across the floor, the scent of extinguished wicks hanging low in the air and biting at his nose.  Burning paper, in the far corner - one of Jongin’s old scrolls Jongdae himself used to studying his runes with. He’s going to be angry, Jongdae thinks to himself, before his eyes fall onto the form of his apprentice, bent low over Baekhyun’s body on the bed, kicking his legs in a desperate try to get out from underneath the girl sitting on his stomach, pressing both her hands down on his throat and cutting off his air. He’s already turning blue, Jongdae can see, scratching blindly at Jisoo’s arms to push her off of him. 

He’s frozen, only for a second. 

“What the hell are you doing?”, he shouts then, taking two long strides across the floor to wrap his arms around Jisoo’s middle and pull her off of Baekhyun, but his student hisses and lashes out at him, her fingernails cutting roughly into his cheek. He reels back, mind trying to catch up with what’s happening - but his body is reacting on its own, grabbing her by the neck and throwing her to the side. He watches her tumble against the wall, knocking into a stack of books and she growls in both anger and pain, swinging herself around so her legs pull his own out from underneath his body.  Jongdae can hear Baekhyun sucking in a desperate breath, then another, before he hits the floor. 

He’s blinded, momentarily, by the shock of the impact. 

For a moment he expects her to throw herself down on top of him, attack him now instead of Baekhyun, but instead she’s right back at the other man, wrapping her strong fingers around Baekhyun’s throat once more, squeezing so tightly, Jongdae can hear her knuckles cracking with the force. The other man is fighting back as best as he can, but there is a bloody wound on the side of his head and Jongdae guesses she tried to knock him unconscious before she attacked him. And Baekhyun’s movements are sluggish and slow, as if he just woke up from deep sleep. He’s trying to speak, hands desperately tugging on Jisoo’s arms. He’s trying to talk to  _ her,  _ Jongdae realizes just in the moment he comes back up to his feet again, catching hold of Jisoo’s elbow and yanking so hard, he throws the two of them off of Baekhyun and against the door. They tumble into the hallway, Jisoo rollen over him and digging her elbows into his chest. She’s trying to get away from him, spitting angry curses and Jongdae growls at her, twisting her arms until her shoulders pop and he has her wrists in a secure grip on her back.   
“Can’t you see?”, she screeches, bucking in his hold, struggling to come free again. “He’s poisoning you! He’s taking you from me! You’re  __ mine!”  
“What are you talking about?”, Jongdae grits out, surprised by how strong she is - but there is pride mixed in with the thought, as obscene as it might be. “Jisoo, are you insane?”  
“Let me go!”, she yells and Jongdae hisses, when she kicks out behind herself, hitting him first into the kneecap and then frees her hand just enough to punch her elbow into his groin.   
She all but falls back into Baekhyun’s room and Jongdae can hear them clashing once more, while he tries to recover from the blow below his belt line. He braces himself on the wall for a second, breathing hard, before he throws himself into action again. The door finally rips off its hinges when he kicks it open, barely missing Baekhyun as he falls against his desk, yipping in shock and agony.  
Jisoo’s aiming a kick towards Baekhyun’s head, but he blocks her just before it hits, catching her ankle and turning it so she loses her balance. He’s seen them do this so many times before, but there was never this murderous intent burning in Jisoo’s face. Never before has Jongdae seen her like this. Livid, filled with nothing but hatred and blood lust. 

And he’s stuck between the need to protect and attack - something he’s never had to deal with, never learned. He can kill, but not preserve. She knows this and it’s the smirk on her lips that tells him she does. With one graceful swoop she whips her body around, thigh pumping as she uses her own weight to pull Jongdae down to the floor, catching him off guard. He rolls against the bed, hitting the post with the small of his back and he groans despite himself. Stuck for a moment, rendered motionless with only the option to watch them, his thoughts barrell out of control.  He knew he should have listened to the other masters, should have heeded their warning when they told him Jisoo is one he will never be able to control. She’s so devoted to him, it borders obsession.  It is obsession, he corrects himself while he comes to his knees and then his legs, trying to think over the noise of his breathing and heart beating straight through his chest. 

He can’t protect, but he can kill.

“An apprentice should never be devoted to their master.”, Jongin once told him after Jongdae had to take Jisoo’s eye and now he knows why. It’s a weapon he shouldn’t be holding.    
He’s silent when he reaches for the knife Baekhyun keeps under his pillow just like Jongdae told him to, tucking it away into the fold of his linen trousers. It’s heavy, cold against his skin. But perhaps it’s just the awareness of what he is about to do - something he should have done long ago.  It’s inevitable, after all. 

“Jisoo.”, he says loudly and pushes all the authority into his voice he still has left, what with his mind shaking and his soul shattering with shame upon his failure. A failure now standing before him, trying to kill the man Jongdae unknowingly protected ever since he stepped foot into the brotherhood.  Or perhaps, he thinks with a grim smile as he sees her head turning towards him out of pure routine and habit. Perhaps he knew.   
Her eyes are wide, as if she doesn’t understand why she listens to him, but she instantly steps away from Baekhyun, who she had pressed up against the desk, punching a fist against the side of his face so hard, Jongdae can see the other man’s eyes swimming with the threat of a syncope. 

“Come here.”, he commands, but she’s unmoving, keeping one hand raised and the other wrapped around Baekhyun’s throat. Jongdae swallows, hardens his grip around the hilt of his knife.  
“Please, Jisoo.”, he gets out over numb lips, the words starting to taste like acid on his tongue. “Come here. I understand what you tried to tell me. If you let him go now, we will tell the brotherhood it was part of his training. They’ll kill you if you break another rule.”  
She cocks her head, takes a breath, and then whispers: “You understand me, master?”  
“Of course I do.”, Jongdae nods and forces himself to smile. “I’m your master after all.”  
She hesitates but finally - finally! - steps away from Baekhyun, who starts coughing violently, hands coming up to feel along his bruising throat.   
“But you care for him.”, she accuses him with a snapping voice and Jongdae tries to soften his smile. He’s learned this his entire life. Be the tiger who lures them in, only to pounce and bite.   
“I’m responsible for him, Jisoo.”, he tells her and takes a step forward. He nearly fears for her to step backwards, but instead she mimics his movement, coming so close he’s almost able to touch her. But instead he opens his arms, beckoning her forward and into his embrace. “But I care for you. Come here, Jisoo. I’ll protect you from their wrath. I’m your master, no? I love you, little one. I love you.”  
He knows he’s breaking with the words he says, nearly chokes on them as they leave his mouth that tastes like bile by now. But her eyes are glazing over, her face goes slack, and she steps so readily into his arms, it’s almost too easy for him. He embraces her, holds her trembling form against himself while he keeps whispering to her, hearing her broken whimpers muffled by his shoulders, wet from her tears. She clutches at his back, the same words falling off her lips over and over again, but Jongdae doesn’t hear them. He only hears the screaming of his own thoughts, the thundering of his heartbeat. 

The knife is too heavy in his hold, sliding free from his waistband without a single sound.

“I knew you do.”, Jisoo babbles, fingernails digging into the flesh around Jongdae’s shoulder blades. “I knew you love me. Always did.”  
“Yes.”, Jongdae breathes and kisses the side of her face. “Yes, little one. I love you.”  
A part of him hopes those are the only things she is aware of. He prays she doesn’t feel the movement of his body, the way he angles his torso and brings forward his arm. The knife slides easily into her stomach, curving upwards right next to her sternum and beneath her ribs. She doesn’t even gasp, only breathes in with a shudder that runs all the way through her into Jongdae’s own body.   
And then, she goes lax, dead weight in his arms as her hands fall away from his back and to her sides. He holds her up, barely but unyielding, as her head tips backwards and onto the arm he has wrapped around her upper back. Her eyes are open, her mouth is too.  He can’t breathe, he thinks desperately and only holds onto her tighter, throat convulsing around the air he needs in his lungs that are already burning in pain. 

Regret. 

It hits him so hard, he groans even while he adjusts his grip on her, sinking to the floor with her. She’s like a doll, suddenly so small and frail even though she used to be so strong. He taught her well, he tries to tell himself. This would have happened sooner or later - but not like this, another voice inside of him screams louder, angrily. Not like this.  It wasn’t her time yet, not the trial he would have needed to proof to himself and her, that she isn’t ready yet. Now, he will never know if she would have ever been.   
“Jongdae.”, he can hear Baekhyun say, a hesitant, clammy hand touching his arm. He flinches away from the touch, hissing like a wounded animal and snaps: “Don’t touch me.”  
“Jongdae, let her go.”, Baekhyun begs him and tries to pull Jisoo free from his hold. Jongdae answers with a wordless snarl, eyes snapping up to the other’s place, bruised face.   
“If you touch her, I will break your fingers again.”, he threatens and Baekhyun straightens with a shocked little sound. He’s overwhelmed, he realizes with a broken sound that is not quite a sob.   
Overwhelmed with emotions he’s never felt before.  Maybe a dark, twisted part of him always knew it would come to this as soon as he would choose a companion. As soon as he would have listened to the other masters. As soon as Jisoo would have decided to challenge him for the inevitable duel that would have ended with him killing her. 

But he didn’t want this. 

He didn’t want to break her open like Taeyeon did to him, telling him she loved him before slitting him open, leaving him for the vultures to feast on and telling him to find a way back home.   
They all needed to learn how to survive, but now he thinks he only taught Jisoo how to die.  He raised her up so she could die one day. 

He’s breaking. 

Breaking with the guilt he never felt before after his knife found its home in the flesh of a target.   
There are hands pulling at his arms - stronger than Baekhyun’s, unyielding even when he hisses at them, even as he growls out a warning and a threat.   
“Let go.”, Sehun’s voice says somewhere in the fog of his mind. “Jongdae, let her go. I won’t hesitate to knock you out cold, if you don’t.”  
“Brother.”, Soojung whispers into his ear, brushing sweaty hair off his forehead. “Please. She’s safe with me. I promise. You can let her go. You did well.”  
He lets them, closes his eyes as they take her from his arms, the knife still in his hand. There’s cold blood dripping off of it and onto his hand and he feels as he’s about to throw up. But there’s a third pair of hands, slowly prying the knife out of his grip and letting it clatter to the floor.  Fingers curl around his own as he’s tugged to his legs, don’t let go even when Jongdae doesn’t close his hand around the one holding his.   
  
It’s Baekhyun, leading him now - out of the room and down the hallway, passing all the open doors and staring apprentices, all the shocked and silent masters. There’s a trail of blood on the floor, breaking off into a corridor to the left where Jongdae knows the mistresses quarters are located.  The beads of the curtain hit him in the face when Baekhyun leads him inside, pulling him even when Jongdae tries to break away from him. He doesn’t want this touch right now, doesn’t want Baekhyun to pity him. If the other man just hadn’t come to the brotherhood, nothing of this would have happened. Not yet, he whispers to himself and Baekhyun makes a soft sound. It’s so raw, it must hurt.   
“Sit.”, Baekhyun commands him, pressing down on his shoulders until he lets himself sink onto the edge of his bed.   
“Stay there.”, he hears the other say and yet still doesn’t look up from the blood on his fingers.  He only does when there is a wet piece of cloth brushing up against the stains, wiping gently.   
Baekhyun looks pale and he’s visibly shaking, black bruises already forming around his right eye and the side of his face. There’s blood dripping down over his brow and Jongdae reaches up to touch it, almost tender.   
  
Baekhyun looks up at him then, with wide eyes and a slack mouth.   
“I’m sorry.”, Jongdae hears him whisper long before he sees his lips moving. “I’m sorry, Jongdae.”  
He hums, lets the other man clean the blood from his fingers and then takes the cloth from him, looking down at it with a frown. For a moment he wants to reach and clean the red from Baekhyun’s face too, but this is Jisoo’s blood there. His student’s blood.  It wouldn’t feel right.  So he tosses it to the side, hears it slap onto the ground with an almost satisfying smack.  Baekhyun opens his mouth, as if he’s about to say something but Jongdae can’t take another apology, can’t say anything himself and he can’t  _ take  _ another word spoken right now.  So he brings a hand up, watches Baekhyun draw away as he’s expecting a slap. Instead he slides his fingers over a bruise on the other’s neck, all the way into his nape and pulls. It’s easy, what with the way Baekhyun follows his lead willingly, scooting into his lap as if he belongs there.   
“I just need this. I- can’t think right now. Can’t… I can’t face-.”, he breathes out against Baekhyun’s lips then, when the man’s thighs have settled on either side of his hips, steady but damp hands holding Baekhyun up against his shoulders. He breathes, stuttering, starts to speak once again, but Baekhyun cuts him off with another press of their lips together, nodding his head only once. 

“I know.”, he replies and it’s so silent, Jongdae isn’t sure if he even spoke at all.   
It’s weird to him, how easy it is to kiss Baekhyun like this - a hint of desperation even though the other slows them down with languid movements and steady fingers cupping Jongdae’s jaw. It’s easy to drown himself in the touch of their mouths, the first touches of their tongues together, his fingers gripping Baekhyun’s waist to hold him still, although he isn’t moving at all.  He always did that, he thinks to himself when Baekhyun scoots even closer, wraps his arms around Jongdae’s neck, and angles his head just so, leading him to deepen the kiss with a scrape of his teeth against his bottom lip. Whenever he returned, he washed away the blood and the memories of each life he took with the touch and the warmth of another body. A body that was alive, that understood him. Baekhyun might not understand him, but he knows.  He knows Jongdae didn’t have a choice - even though, he tries to tell himself - he did.   
But Baekhyun’s touches are perhaps just as desperate as his own, tugging, pulling and demanding where Jongdae just sits there and kisses him, trying to drown himself in the rush of his blood in his ears. They end up sinking into the bed, the crumpled blanket Jongdae kicked aside earlier in his haste to get out of bed, away from those thoughts.  What if he hadn’t?

What would have happened, if he had fallen asleep? 

“Don’t.”, Baekhyun suddenly says, their kiss breaking even though Jongdae nearly chases after the contact, after the sweet, sweet oblivion dropping off of the other’s lips.   
“Don’t think. Jongdae, stop thinking. You’re punishing yourself with your own thoughts.”  
“How would you know?”, Jongdae asks right back and makes to push himself off of Baekhyun, whose arms and legs suddenly come around him like a vice. He holds on so tight, Jongdae’s exhausted body can do nothing but sink back into, barely able to brace the weight on his forearms where they are pressed into the mattress on either side of Baekhyun’s head.   
“I do.”, Baekhyun assures him then, voice thick with sudden emotion and Jongdae thinks he might start screaming any second now. He can’t deal with more emotion, can’t handle any more weight on his shoulders. But even though he can see the moisture in the other’s eyes as he looks down between his arms, the tears never fall. They just shimmer in the little light that comes from the candles Baekhyun lit earlier, over on the dresser by the far wall were Jongdae keeps his washing bowl and bandages. And somehow, Jongdae can’t look away. He can’t rip himself loose from the determination in Baekhyun’s gaze, the quivering line of his kiss-swollen bottom lip.   
“I do know.”, he repeats then, a little slower and a lot more sure, now that he has Jongdae’s attention. “I’ve had nothing but my thoughts and guilt before Joohyun came to get me. I had no one to blame but you and me and everyone around me. So I know, Jongdae. Your thoughts are your own worst enemy and no one can save you from them…. but yourself. All I can do… all I can do for you is be your distraction now. Because you need it. Because- the _another time_ will come and I won’t ask for it. Not anymore, Jongdae. Your domain, your kingdom inside these walls…. not mine.”  
It’s then, a single tear wrestles itself free from the corner of his eye and Jongdae stares, drinks in the way Baekhyun stares right back. The tear leaves a clean track across the bruises and Jongdae follows it, before it seeps into Baekhyun’s dark, dark hair. For a moment neither of them moves, frozen in that moment that seems all too natural to Jongdae right now. But then, after Baekhyun’s lips lift just at the corners, Jongdae leans down again and allows himself one, tiny moment of weakness as he slots their mouths together for a kiss that seems to stretch until the sky starts paling behind the swishing, fluttering curtains of his chambers.   
  
  
There are no funerals in the brotherhood.

Only the silence of the temple, the stillness of the training pits, the shooting grounds and prayer halls. Everything seems to be holding its breath, lips locked tight and breaths coming shallow - make no sound, hush now, hush. There are no prayers spoken for those lost, not even a single one. No mourning to be seen in the hallways or the service hall. No masters wearing white in grief as they would do for one of their own. No funeral for those, who fall. They don’t need the bereavement, the wallowing and wailing. No ash on crowns of black hair. Just silence and candles and little pieces of jewels and fruits, sweet little treats from far away lands nobody has a name for, strewn across the floor outside what used to be Baekhyun’s room. A couple of flowers, draped over the fallen door, between the splinters of wood across a stainless, bloodless marble floor. 

There is only silence, still. 

No one dares to speak, to move, to breathe. 

And Jongdae stands there all alone, in front of the fiery goodbye he bids his apprentice, the flames taking her body home to where it came from. Ash and sand they were before the gods shaped them and breathed the life into their lungs. She’s nothing more than ash now, soon to be forgotten.  It’s a bitter goodbye, one that should have come a different day.  But Jongdae stands there, eyes wide open despite the smoke and stench of burning flesh and they all can do nothing but look at him from a distance that allows him to be in silence.  Even their thoughts are too loud for him now, he says.  He prefers the quiet of the dunes, of the garden of pillars. The peace of nothing out there but the waiting storms that close in on the temple like the fingers of the gods they worship, chasing cloud across the sky with whips of thunder and lightning. 

There are no funerals in the brotherhood, no prayers, no singing, no farewell. 

And Baekhyun dreads the silence now.   
  
  
He finds his way into Jongdae’s bed at night, sometimes. Just from time to time after he watched the assassin say his final goodbye to the girl he took in despite knowing better. Yixing told him, as did Seungwan. As did Sehun and Soojung that night he ran to them for help with the furious, livid master kneeling in his room, cradling a corpse as if it were a child. A doll.  
He isn’t sure anymore if he’s doing it because Jongdae needs him to, wants him to. Or if it’s him, who needs Jongdae’s arms around him, the press of his lips to shut out the voices that started telling him it’s all his fault, not Jongdae’s. Or if it’s something else, a desire he can’t seem to choke down, no matter how many times he falls asleep to Jongdae’s strangely soft, sleeping face right next to his.   
They don’t touch, just explore the absence of thought with their mouths, with fingers raking through hair and sometimes thighs hitching up across a waist. Never more and it burns him from the inside out. Maybe it does the same to Jongdae, he thinks while running a finger down the scar spanning over Jongdae’s chest. The assassin grunts, almost, at the gentle touch and catches his fingers with his own - not quite slapping him away, but putting a stop to his exploratory pondering. Baekhyun doesn’t move, just sits there with his tongue between his teeth, the assassin stretched out across his bed with an arm behind his head and his eyes closed. He’s exhausted, drifting in and out of sleep, but it’s no surprise, he thinks while he presses a finger into a knob of scars by Jongdae’s hip. The spot his sword had slid home. It seems so long ago and now that he thinks about it, it’s been months - not weeks or one circle of the moon, as Baekhyun thought. Several days since Jisoo found her gruesome, pitiful end. 

This time, Jongdae reacts by opening his eyes and pinning him down like a butterfly again. 

Baekhyun pauses, presses a little harder and hears Jongdae grunt once more, this time clearly annoyed by the touch.   “Admiring your handiwork?”   
“Not quite.”, Baekhyun quips, punctuating each word. “More wondering.”  
“Wondering.”, Jongdae echoes and lets his eyes fall shut again. “Let me sleep. You annoy me. Go seek Yixing, if you want training today. Or Minseok, if you want a real lesson.”  
“I’m good. Just fine.”, Baekhyun tells him sharply and Jongdae opens one eye again to peer up at him through hooded, tired lashes. He’s thrown himself into work far beyond the durance of a man, Baekhyun knows. He watched it happen, long before Jongdae recovered from the emotional wound he inflicted on himself that night in Baekhyun’s bedroom.  He gets up long before the sun rises, leaving the bed cold and big around Baekhyun, who shouldn’t be there to begin with. He returns to the chambers long after sunset, drenched in sweat and in a foul mood, snapping and lashing out and everyone who might dare cross his way.   
“This one, I don’t have to explain to your wondering mind, do I?”, Jongdae asks and if Baekhyun were hopeful, he would hear the trace of a smile in his words. “Or do you want-”  
“Don’t be silly.”, Baekhyun chides him and Jongdae’s upper lip curls in the beginning simmer of anger.  It vanishes, rather quickly.  He’s left with the tired shell of a man, who used to be able to break him in half with only one word, only one sharp reply off of that tongue, that is now too tired to even speak properly. Because when Jongdae does, he sounds drunk - not only of wine but of exhaustion. 

“This one I got from my mistress, as I did several others.”, Jongdae begins, reluctantly and lets his hand glide down his chest as Baekhyun did before. “She whipped me for disobeying her. Didn’t stop until my clothes were torn, my skin was bloody and the flesh on my chest was peeling away from the bones. She said she’d like to have a look inside of me, one day. See if my heart is still beating.”  
Baekhyun knows better than to stress the matter.   
It’s not often Jongdae talks to him, now. It’s rare for him to do something else than let Baekhyun kiss him and suck the air out of his lungs in return - kissing him until they are both breathless and too close to wanting something they can not grant themselves just yet. Sometimes he talks, though, when Baekhyun annoyed him enough.   
“This one.”, he points out, touching the tip of his fingers to a scar that is half-shrouded by black runes from just beneath his armpit, down to where his hip bone stand out beneath his skin.   
“Jongin, in my second year as master. A challenge down the river in the cave. I slipped, he fell and pushed me into the wall to prevent us falling into the water and drowning in the current.”  
“So Jongin’s legs used to be…”, he starts and watches Jongdae’s face do that strange thing it always does whenever he skirts a topic the other man doesn’t fancy all too much. This time, though, Jongdae whispers: “Yes. They used to be.”  
“This one.”, Baekhyun decides loudly after Jongdae is silent for too long, face scrunched up in a frown that seems to be too massive with memories. He lets his finger rest where he pointed, just in the hollow of Jongdae’s throat, where he has a symbol tattooed into the tiny dip there.   
“My mistress, trying to cut my throat after I refused to share my bed with her the night of the full moon. She missed, only because she didn’t want to kill me just yet.”  
Baekhyun hums, lets Jongdae’s arm wind around his waist to pull him closer. And yet, the other man keeps his eyes shut, breathing calm as if he’s already fast asleep. 

“She sounds like a cruel woman.”

“Everyone is cruel in their own right, Baekhyun.”, Jongdae replies gently. “You are, I am, the world is. All humans are cruel and so are the gods. There is no such thing as the absence of malice. Not in a single person in this world.”  
“But you were her student.”, Baekhyun insists and bites his tongue, when he sees a tiny, saw crease between Jongdae’s eyebrows forming. It’s there for the fraction of a heartbeat, then it’s gone and he’s left with the mask of a man, he’s seen one too many times before.   
“You’ll understand one day, that a master doesn’t mean the same in the brotherhood, as it does in the order. You are born there, you get raised by those who claim you as their apprentices. And while we do the same, we raise them up to one day surpass us, or die. We all grow up in the knowledge that one day we might face the person who teaches us - in a fight, in a duel, or in a trial. To you it might seem cruel, for us it’s the way we grow into the god that lives inside of us.”, Jongdae tells him and his voice is so calm, it seems to Baekhyun as if he’s said these words a thousand times before.   
He opens his mouth to speak again, ask about another one of those scars and ends up falling silent, when Jongdae’s hand slides over the linen on his knee, calloused fingertips catching slightly on the fabric. He struggles for a moment, fights the urge to cover the other man’s hand with his own and then chooses to bend down and quench all the questions that might linger in his mind, in this space between them, with another kiss. 

Jongdae hums against him, both emotional exhaustion and physical fatigue allowing Baekhyun to easily roll over on top of him, one of the assassin’s knees falling open to hike across his waist, hooking into the dip of his waist and hip.   
“Is it cruel of you keeping me here, too?”, Baekhyun asks after several minutes, not stopping himself for once to brush a hand over Jongdae’s forehead, to seems to both shy away from the touch and lean into it, eyes still closed - almost as if he can’t take opening them to look up at Baekhyun.   
“For how long do you think will I need to be your distraction?”  
“It is, what it is.”, Jongdae shrugs in answer, turning his head to the side with a stifled yawn.   
He needs to cut his hair, Baekhyun thinks faintly in the back of his mind, when he watches the other’s hair fan across the pillow underneath his head.   
“Some things simply are. No explanation, no name.”


	9. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update!!   
> I know we're moving quite quickly, but there isn't that much going on right now and I thought with all the comments and kudos people are leaving me, it would be nice to give something back <3 These two chapters are "moving" chapters and this one marks the beginning of the second half!   
> Please enjoy and leave me some thoughts! This isn't really proof read so if you find a typo I'm sorry lmao

“I worry about you.”, Baekhyun hears an all too familiar voice say in the twilight of the morning, echoed back through the walls and alcoves of the baths. He stops in his tracks, presses the bundle of clothes he has in his arms tightly against his chest, bottom lip between his teeth. He waits, standing in the shadow of an high, arched doorway.  
“Is it not me, who should worry about you?”, comes the half-laughed reply and Baekhyun feels himself quiver, an ice cold shiver running down his spine. The sound of splashing, gentle water drowns out another sentence, another laugh. And Baekhyun just stands there, unsure if he should leave and return to the baths later, or if he should make his way to one of the more secluded basins lining the outside of the halls, where he can look out across the oasis and its gardens. It would be far away enough from those two voices - yet he doesn’t move, head turned towards where he can hear the quiet, muttered exchanged between god and prophet. The echoes of the baths are traitorous, he knows, no place for private conversations. But he feels as if he shouldn’t be here, as if he’s an intruder to something that should stay hidden in the darkness and silence of an early morning.   
“You forfeited your right to worry about me, when you decided to leave.”, Jongin then says and even though his voice is as gentle as always, there is something cutting to his words as well.

Minseok sighs - something Baekhyun has never heard before in all those months he’s encountered his surety time and time again - and then says: “You know all too well, that this worry was the reason, Jongin. You know I didn’t have a choice. And you are in no position to complain, are you? Do you not have Yixing, who answers to your every beck and call? You didn’t need me here.”  
“You were my friend, Minseok. My  _ haldae.  _ For you to go and-”  
“Jongin.”, Minseok cuts him off and the prophet falls silent at once.   
“Do you not think it was best for me to leave after what I did to you? Or did you want me to stay and cut Yixing’s spine loose from his body as well, so you could be joined in the loss of the godhood?”  
Jongin is quiet for a couple of minutes, water splashing against stone, before he gives back:

“You didn’t do it on purpose, Minseok.”  
“I might as well have.”, comes the angry answer and Baekhyun holds his breath, retreats a couple of steps back into the hallway so he can press himself up against a wall, the sound of his breathing muffled by the clothes he holds tightly against his chin and over his mouth. “I took from you that was granted from birth and now? Look at you. Blind and crippled, depending on other people for the most simple tasks. Even bathing yourself.”  
“Now you’re just insulting me.”, Jongin snaps and something slaps against the stone, wet and soft.   
“Don’t touch me! I can do this on my own just fine.”, he hears the prophet hiss then and the sound of the moving water tell him that the man is pulling himself up and out of the basin. He’s seen it before, the strength of those arms.   
“I once wished to see your face again.”, Jongin tells Minseok suddenly, sounding bitter and nearly sad. “Now I’m not sure if would like, what I would see.”  
“You wouldn’t.”, Minseok replies and it’s how tender he sounds, how affectionate, that has Baekhyun turning to flee down the corridor.   
  
  
There is always a certain kind of thrill running through the brotherhood, when someone is approaching the temple. The guards in the garden of pillars shout names - guesses and bets who it might be this time- but everyone falls silent, when word spreads that it’s Yixing. He looks torn apart by the storms, bruised and tired - and yet, so Jongdae thinks, there is something in the way he falls to his knees in the middle of a hallway to bury his face in Jongin’s lap, arms wrapped tightly around the body of the prophet - and stays there. Jongin is patient, running his fingers through Yixings long dark hair and shoos everybody away, who attempts to speak to them.   
It’s only silent gestures of his hand, but it’s enough to have the students scrambling, for the masters to give a wide berth around where the prophet and the master sit in the shade of the hallway.   
Even Taehyung, who normally follows his master around like a lost little pup, stays as far as his excitement upon Yixing’s return allows him too, sitting by the edge of the pond in the entrance hall of the temple to study. But his eyes keep flickering back and forth between his master and his book, bottom lip between his teeth and Jongdae feels bile rise in his throat when it reminds him of the way Jisoo always seemed to hover around him, even while he slept.   
It’s by far not the same with Taehyung and Yixing - Jongdae knows that. He knows that the boy has a different sort of bond with the other assassin. Something that is so close to real brothers as it might ever be. It won’t be long before Yixing will raise him to the rank of an adept, Jongdae knows that too. Taehyung was born in the brotherhood, raised in the temple. If there is one apprentice ready to join their ranks, it might as well be Yixing’s own.   
And Jongdae wonders, not for the first time, how it must be to have someone to return to, like Yixing has. Always did. As long as Jongdae can remember, they were attached by the hip, two young men drawn to each other by the power of their training, their similarities and dreams. But he can’t help but smile too, despite the thought that perhaps having someone like this might make life harder, not better. The sadness that always lingers around Jongin whenever Yixing leaves, the desperate way the master clings to their prophet as soon as he returns - it’s all testament of a fear that goes beyond the fear of death. It’s the fear of loss and Jongdae finds himself looking over at where Baekhyun is sitting with Minseok, tucked away into a corner by the gardens, reading. It’s the god who looks up to meet his eyes, not Baekhyun and for a second Jongdae wants to look away, avert his eyes just so the man can’t look straight into his soul like he seems to do way too often. There is just something about the way Minseok always seems to catch his gaze, that makes his skin itch. Right now he isn’t sure anymore, if Baekhyun is the one, who has to prove his worth.   
  
  
  
“I think it’s time for Baekhyun to mark a target.”, Minseok muses loudly from where he is reclined on a stack of pillows, head hanging between his shoulders as he gazes out into the night sky peeking through between the pillars of the masters hall. Jongdae grunts, shifting in his own seat and catches Seungwan’s gaze, that is amused and worried at the same time. She’s grown fond of the soldier in their middle, finding her way into the garden with the man on many occasions to teach him about the herbs she grows there with the other mistresses. He can feel her worry, too.   
It’s too soon, a part of him wants to say - but the other part, the master inside of him, knows that it’s truly the time now. Claim a target, go for the kill. They all had to do it.   
And it’s been several months since Baekhyun joined them, his time nearly up. Perhaps, so Jongdae thinks to himself while he swishes a sip of his wine around in his mouth, it’s Minseok’s final test.   
“Do you think he is ready, Jongdae?”, Jongin asks, voice as soft as the silk wrapped around his fingers, the scarf pulling taut around Yixing’s throat, who smiles and swats at the prophet’s arm.   
Jongdae is silent, swallowing his wine and letting his eyes rest on Baekhyun, who holds his stare with the kind of determination Jongdae is used to by now. A determination that could easily kill him, one day. He hums in thought, sets his chalice down on the low table in front of him and licks the wine off his lips with a sweep of his tongue. 

“Yes.”, he answers the question then and Jongin smiles. “Very well then.”  
Baekhyun swallows audibly, involuntarily leaning closer into Jongdae’s side and Minseok’s eyes seem to flash at the movement, even though it’s barely visible at all. “How…”  
“You heard what Yixing told us, did you not?”, Jongdae asks him, not missing the way Baekhyun’s lip curls at the tone of his voice. “Who would you choose to remediate to help this world heal itself?”  
Baekhyun doesn’t even hesitate, blinking only once before he answers: “The alchemist. The woman who seems to poison the waters of the temples so the baron can gain more power over the city and its trading benefits. If I understood correctly, the priests are the only thing that keeps him from exploiting the population.”  
There’s a long, dark pause. Jongdae can see Baekhyun swallowing, his slender fingers gripping tightly along the hem of his shirt. Then, Minseok snorts and the sounds seems to have ripped the attending masters out of their stupor. Some of them snicker, some of them start whispering to each other and Baekhyun only grows more agitated, more fidgety next to Jongdae.  
“You’re not wrong.”, Hangeng starts then, after getting up from his seat and making his way over to the long table by the wall, pouring himself a new fill of wine. “But next time, there is no need for such an…. intricate justification.”  
Baekhyun opens his mouth and then closes it again, the faintest hint of crimson dusted across his cheeks and Jongdae finds himself snorting into his chalice, earning an angry glare from the man beside him, which he answers with only a single eyebrow raised.   
“He is not wrong, no.”, Minseok agrees and nods along to his own words, stretching his arms above his head with a deep, bone-cracking sigh. “So I think… Jongdae, please accompany your little fledgling to the Delta and make sure he doesn’t give his target an explanation before he kills her.”  
Baekhyun blushes bright red at the others words - and perhaps the snickering of the masters around them, too.   
  
  
They ride by dawn, the desert around them transforming in the pale yellow light of a gigantic, blurred-out sun rising beyond the dunes. The sands are still moving with the passing storms, all the hills and valleys constantly wandering as they pass them. Jongdae is a taciturn traveler, hood pulled deeply into his face to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun, his naked arms soon glittering with sweat before he wraps himself in a thin, white cloak. Baekhyun mirrors him, protecting his head by knotting his scarf around his head in a makeshift turban, tugging the red fabric across his nose and over his mouth when the wind picks up and starts pricking his skin with grains as sharp as glass.  
It’s not big of a distance they have to cross to reach the Delta, but it’s long enough for Baekhyun to grow restless in his saddle, tugging on his belt and the saddle bags that dig into his lower back.   
And even though he pesters Jongdae with an endless stream of questions as they ride, the assassin never answer shim with more than two words, shooting him angry looks from the shadows of his hood until Baekhyun keeps his mouth shut, albeit begrudgingly. The sun is already setting, endless hours of riding through nothing but yellows and oranges, when Jongdae suddenly slows his horse into a slow, prancing trott. Baekhyun steers his horse to the other man’s side, making a questioning noise, nearly flinching back when Jongdae turns towards him with a smile on his lips that is challenging and playful at the same time. It’s a rare expression on the stoic man’s face and Baekhyun thinks he would rather see him look like this, than endure those hard, unforgiving lines around Jongdae’s mouth anymore. 

“What?”, he asks, hesitant, eyes narrowed and Jongdae lifts one shoulder in a mocking shrug.   
“You’ve never left the city state of the order, have you?”, he asks and Baekhyun shakes his head, still narrowing his eyes at the assassin by his side. “No? The first time I left the city, I traveled to the brotherhood. Why?”  
“I think you’re going to like this.”, Jongdae tuts and then clicks his tongue a couple of times for his horse to pick up speed again. It falls into a quicker trot, elegantly pulling in front and up a hill that is starting to smooth out with hard earth. The Delta is close. 

“What is that supposed to mean?”, Baekhyun asks loudly - and then falls silent when he reaches the top of the hill, where Jongdae has stopped his mare, sitting easily in the saddle, hands in his lap and reigns loose. The horse snorts, tasting the air and then shifts, brushing up against Baekhyun’s leg as he halts his own. He knows what Jongdae meant, then.  The Delta is green between red earth, plains of salt plantages and chatoyant fields.  But it’s not the silver-glittering waters, dotting the surrounding lands with flickers of light, it’s the giant city between all of that - temples as high as the sun, statues dressed in gold and jade - that have Baekhyun’s mouth opening wordlessly.   
Everything seems to be full of color, from the street lined with bushes adorned with flowers, to the corn fields growing so high Baekhyun isn’t able to touch the tips with his arm stretched wide above his head, sitting on the back of his horse. After months - no, years - of nothing but sand and gemstones, this seems like a place touched by the healing mother herself. Strong and vivid, so alive it makes Baekhyun’s bones ache with how dark Jongdae seems to be between all of this.  His clothes, even underneath the white cloak, stand out like sore thumb as they pass citizens and farmers dressed in damask and colorful shawls, women adorned with veils of a fabric Baekhyun never saw before, shining through with peeks of skin and jewelry. Their eyes are lined with black, their hair dark with oil and golden with crowns and chains. Even the least of man seems to be dressed like a merchant would be in the orders city state. Baekhyun watches them as they tend to their flocks - bleating sheep and goats, cows with fur as long as a woman’s hair. 

It seems like a completely different world just one day on horseback away from the brotherhood, located deep inside the heart of the desert that marks the center of their world.   
“You were right.”, Baekhyun tells Jongdae silently, head craned back as far as he can, to look up at the cupola roofs of the gate towers. “I would like it here.”  
Jongade only snickers next to him, eyes crinkling in the darkness of his hood, that still remains pulled down over his pitch black hair. Baekhyun wonders, how long it will take, until his own turns black too.  
  
  
“Can we even afford a room in there?”, Baekhyun asks skeptically as he strokes a hand down his horses mane, twirling the coarse hair between his fingers while Jongdae hoists his bag across his shoulders. He stares at the other for a second, until he realizes what he must have talked about. The guesthouse is a tall, slim building, the front brightly lit by lanterns and braziers, scattered between rugs and piles of pillows, filled with lounging people eating from golden and silver plates and trays.   
  
“What do you think?”, he asks then, with a laugh and Baekhyun scowls at him.   
“Could you answer a question like a normal man? Just once?”, he shoots back and Jongdae shakes his head with an amused exhale. “The brotherhood provides us with enough to cover the expenses of our journeys, Baekhyun.”  
“See, that’s a normal answer.”, Baekhyun jests and Jongdae rolls his eyes - well out of Baekhyun’s field of vision, though. He knows his uncanny companion well enough by now, to be aware of the fact that he doesn’t react well to Jongdae rolling his eyes at him. Not when he starts snorting and twisting away from Jongdae’s touch when his fingers travel up his spine while they are kissing, nor when he stumbles in the labyrinth underneath the temple, trying to beat Jongdae during their race for the flag. It’s one of Jongdae’s favorite rituals by now, even though he would probably never tell Baekhyun.

He has the inkling though, that he already knows. 

“Yes, yes.”, Jongdae waves across his shoulder and makes his way out of the tables by the side of the inn, not waiting for Baekhyun to follow, who starts grumbling loudly behind him in irritation.   
But he catches up soon enough, pushing into the tavern just after Jongdae crossed the threshold.   
“You need a bath.”, Jongdae mutters as they make their way towards the counter, guiding Baekhyun with a hand on his lower back.   
“You don’t smell like roses either, master.”, Baekhyun gives back without missing a beat and Jongdae easily replies: “But at least you can’t tell the race and color of my horse just by smelling me.”  
Baekhyun makes an angry sound at that, but falls silent upon the sight of the smirk on Jongdae’s lips, just throwing up his hands and whispering “don’t fight battles against those with simpler minds”.   
The movement catches the landlords attention though, it seems, because he throws down his rag to reach for two beakers of mead, sliding them easily in front of the two waiting men.   
“Two coppers the mead, just for you my strangers.”, he drones and Baekhyun scrunches up his nose, looking over at Jongdae, whose lips stretch into a pleasant, practiced smile.   
“How generous of you, Seho. Although I was under the impression, we are not quite strangers anymore.”, he all but purrs and leans his forearms against the counter, cocking his hip to the side as he crooks a leg. Baekhyun gives him another look, rolling his eyes now himself and reaches for the beaker, taking a long, hefty gulp of the cold, sweet beverage served to them.   
“New one, you got there, Jongdae.”, Seho nods towards Baekhyun, all pretence of unfamiliarity falling off of him as does his smile. But his eyes shine with amusement. “A thirsty one.”  
“Yes, a thirsty one who should slow down so he doesn’t get drunk and falls off a tower _by accident.”,_ Jongdae smiles, but the edges of his lips are tight, his eyes as sharp as the dagger hidden in his sash.   
“Is that a threat?”, Baekhyun asks him, wiping the wetness from his lips with the leather wrapped around his wrist, making Jongdae grimace angrily.   
“It might be.”, Jongdae says and cocks his head to the side almost coyly, making Baekhyun’s cheeks and ears grow hot. He turns back towards the innkeeper, who watched their little exchange with little dimples in his cheeks and crinkled eyes. “We need a room for the night. A bath poured for the both of us. And make it a room with a window, facing the back.”  
“Of course.”, Seho tells him and he sounds quipped, as if he already knew Jongdae would ask for this very room. “When do I ever give this room to anybody but members of your craft.”  
“That is true.”, Jongdae shrugs. “I wasn’t implying you were slacking off, my friend.”  
  
He drops a little purse, clattering with coins onto the counter between them, disappearing with a flick of Seho’s wrists. It might have been a little heavy for what Jongdae just ordered and Baekhyun guesses, it’s a bribe as well.   
“You should try the mead, though.”, Seho urges as Jongdae turns to leave towards the narrow staircase, Baekhyun following him a little unsurely.   
“Oh, yes. I’m sorry.”   
Jongdae pivots then, snatching the beaker out of Baekhyun’s fingers and takes a sip, ignoring the other’s silent outrage. He licks his lips after, pushing the tankard back into Baekhyun’s hands.   
“As excellent as ever, Seho, my friend.”  
  
  
“Don’t drink that.”, he snaps as soon as the door to their room falls shut, taking the beaker from Baekhyun once more, who whines and makes to grab for the beverage again.  
“It’s something else than the damned lilac wine, for a change.”, he tells Jongdae with a pout - but he’s only answered by a raised eyebrow and downturned lips.   
“Do you want to crest the tower drunk and fall?”, Jongdae asks him harshly and Baekhyun instantly drops his hands, eyes round. “Are we going in for the target tonight? But we were riding the-”  
“Don’t be an idiot.”, Jongdae cuts him off with a hiss, peeling out of his vest and starting to untie his boots, balanced on one leg. “Before we kill the alchemist, we have to gather evidence against her.”  
“Isn’t Yixing’s word enough?”, he asks softly, starting to undress himself as well, carefully hanging the slightly sweat-damp clothes over the end of the bed. The bed, his mind provides him. Singular.   
“The word of a single man or woman should never be enough reason to kill another.”, Jongdae tells him solemnly, kicking off one boot and untying the other. “Assassin or not. And as a member of the brotherhood, you have to decide yourself, after _seeing_ for yourself, if it is justified to kill.”  
  
Baekhyun stays mum, gnawing on his bottom lip and Jongdae suddenly straightens, face stony.   
“I know the order makes us hired swords and poisoners. I know they tell the world we kill for pleasure.”, he mutters and despite his thunderous face, his voice is calm. “You will see there is a certain kind of… enjoyment in taking a life. The seed of godhood inside of you will ask for the blood of your target. But we do not kill for pleasure, Baekhyun. There are other things we do for that.”  
“If you wanted to kill just for the sake of taking a life, you would have killed those guards back on the market. Me… and Heechul too. I know you’re not a mindless murderer, Jongdae.”, Baekhyun says after a long pause between them and Jongdae smiles. A gesture that doesn’t reach not his eyes, nor looks convincible on his lips.   
“Bath.”, he decides then, toeing off his second boot. He pats Baekhyun on the naked shoulder as he passes him, shooting him a gaze that has his toes curling and throat suddenly dry. 

“Together?”, he all but squeaks, earning himself a laugh - and only that - as Jongdae leaves him behind, padding through the room and out the door on naked feet. There is a small chamber just across the hallway, hot with steam and sticky with moisture. It smells like juniper in here and Baekhyun frowns. And indeed, there is only one wooden tub waiting for them, filled with so much water, it’s already threatening to overspill.   
“We don’t have the time for separated baths.”, Jongdae tells him all too easily, ignoring the heat in Baekhyun’s cheeks and his burning ears. “Haven’t you gotten used to nudity while staying with us, Baekhyun? Or is it just me, that gets you so flustered.”  
“What?”, he croaks, Jongdae laughing somewhere in the fog and Baekhyun desperately tries not to look at the slope of the others back, tapering out into a pert bottom. Jongdae is so quick to undress, walking in nothing but a lungi inside the temple, upper body on full display. It started to become distracting quite some time ago.   
But now, outside of the brotherhood, in a city that feels so brilliantly alive, with nothing between them but unspoken words and Jongdae’s teasing grin, he can’t even be embarrassed for his desires anymore. They’ve been boiling hotly in the space between them for so long, hotter and hotter with every lazy kiss exchanged at night before Baekhyun leaves for his own room - or doesn’t at all.  
“Come here.”, Jongdae’s voice breaks through his heavy thoughts and he steps forward, deeper into the juniper smoke and the steam of the water. “Isn’t it weird how much you talk sometimes and how easily you fall silent?”  
“Maybe I just know better than to fall for your taunting, Jongdae.”, Baekhyun replies and looks down at Jongdae’s hands, pulling open the drawstrings of his pants.   
“Is that so?”, the assassin asks him and presses his fingers to the sensitive skin underneath his waistband. Baekhyun can’t help but shudder at the touch. “Don’t think I never felt the gravity of your gaze on me, little soldier.”  
He steps away then, letting Baekhyun’s pants fall to the floor as he steps into the tub, spilling the water over the iron edge and onto the floor. His pants are soaked now, Baekhyun thinks with a look down and hears Jongdae sigh. The roll of his eyes is evident in the sound.  He kicks them away then, lets the slide across the wet tiles around the bathtub and climbs in himself, nudging Jongdae’s legs to the side. But the other just looks at him, head tilted back and arms on either side of the tub and Baekhyun sighs too, sitting down with a long, relieved groan - right between Jongdae’s spread feet, his own hooked across the other man’s hips. They’re not quite touching, folding into each other inside the water, just close enough so Baekhyun can rest his elbows on top of Jongdae’s bent knees. 

“That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”, the assassin asks him but there is no teasing in his voice. He looks relaxed, the tips of his hair curling with the moisture in the air. Soft, Baekhyun thinks and wets over his bottom lip.   
“Perhaps it was. Care to kiss me, master assassin?”  
“Care to be the one moving, soldier?”  
  
Jongdae’s grinning by now, cheeks dusted with the heat of the bath and perhaps Baekhyun has never seen someone as alluring as the man sitting across from him. Not once has he felt as much desire for someone, not when there is no affection but admiration between them. Their touches might be tender sometimes, but there is nothing that could be called devotion. And still he’s drawn forward, into Jongdae’s waiting arms and hands, arms wrapping around his upper body and knees pushing into his sides as he slides through the water and into the space of Jongdae’s thighs. It feels different this time, the way they kiss.   
Perhaps it’s because of the distance between their respective titles to who they are right now, or the slick feeling of their skin sliding together. Baekhyun doesn’t know and he doesn’t care and it seems, neither does Jongdae.   
“Sometimes you are like a cat.”, Jongdae tells him while he winds a hand into Baekhyun’s hair, tugging his head back so he can press kisses along his throat, over the throbbing over his pulse underneath the assassin’s lips. “At first you fight me and then you come kiss me.”  
Baekhyun bites his lip in retaliation to his words.   
  
  
“Black”, Jongdae explains while tugging his pants up over his narrow hips, tying them shut with quick, practiced fingers. “Is the color you should wear at night, but never on a market during the day.”  
“Mhm.”, Baekhyun makes, fumbling with his own laces, tying and untying them several times.   
“It’s too peculiar of a color to - are you even listen to what I’m saying?”  
“Huh?”   
“That’s what I thought.”, Jongdae sighs and runs a hand through his still slightly wet hair. “Perhaps we should have taken separate baths.”   
Baekhyun blinks, then blinks again. “What? Why?”  
“Because.”, Jongdae stresses, snapping his fingers in Baekhyun’s face several times. “You keep staring at me while I talk and you didn’t hear a single thing a I said. You’re too busy staring at my groin to pay attention.”  
“That’s not-”, Baekhyun starts febly, only to fall silent and exhale through his nose. “I’m not used to being intimate and then just brushing it off as if it didn’t happen.”  
Well, Jongdae wants to reply, that’s what assassins do, Baekhyun. But he doesn’t, instead cocks his head to the side and thinks. He can only guess Baekhyun knows about these things, has been intimate before - or he probably would have shied away during their bath. Away from Jongdae’s wandering hands and exploring touches. He didn’t push him to go all the way, he thinks with a small grimace. And yet Baekhyun almost behaves like he did. He blushes like a virgin and while a part of Jongdae is utterly amused, the other is almost horrified. Baekhyun should not focus on him, he shoulder focus on his training and the mission - they _both_ should be focusing on other things but each other. Yet, a voice inside of him tells him and once again it sounds like Taeyeon, laced with the lilt of Minseok’s voice. Yet they’ve always been drawn to each other, from the moment they first locked gazes with each other over sand and blood. 

It’s always been a dance between them, back and forth. Jongdae and Baekhyun, drawn to each other and pushing away again like the moon and the ocean.   
He isn’t sure if it’s a good thing, or if it will be his downfall, like Taeyeon prophesied him before she died.  
“I’m sorry.”, Jongdae says instead of everything he thought and watches as Baekhyun’s head snaps up in surprise. “I won’t repeat myself, so don’t even try pushing me to. It’s… we treat those things differently, Baekhyun.”  
“Do  _ you  _ treat those things differently? Even with me?”  
There is a hard pause between them now, Baekhyun’s face determined and hard and Jongdae doesn’t even try to hold back the tired sound he makes at the other’s words.   
“I do treat these things different, yes.”, he affirms silently, reaching for the black, skin-tight shirt with the buttoned cuffs he brought along. “With you? Who knows? I told you some things don’t need names or definition.”  
Baekhyun looks as if he wants to say something, but he stays mum. Instead he shrugs, turns away and reaches for his own shirt and cloak. He’s sulking, Jongdae knows. He’s seen Baekhyun sulk hundreds of times before, but never quite like this. No, instead the other man sulks by sighing and jutting his bottom lip, making small noises until Jongdae asks him what is wrong.   
Now though, in the darkness of their rented room, the window open to let in the sounds of the street and the barking dogs, the murmuring of water flowing down the street through narrow canals - he looks almost sad. 

“Here.”, Jongdae mutters, surprising even himself when he steps up towards Baekhyun and reaches for the white sash around his middle, helping him to slide it through the golden ring on the sheath of his dagger. It’s not different from Jongdae’s by much, the metal fittings on the ebony sheath golden where Jongdae’s is silver, studded with copper nails where Jongdae’s is obsidian stone. It’s a custom fabrication for a master of the creed, a member of the brotherhood and for Minseok to hand it over to Baekhyun for his very own, first kill - it speaks more than any other master ever could.   
“It’s the first time this knife will taste blood.”, Jongdae whispers while he ties the sash just tight enough for the dagger to smooth perfectly against Baekhyun’s lower back. “If we encounter any soldiers or guards, you are not to draw it. The first blood on this blade will be the one of your target.”  
“Alright.”, Baekhyun agrees softly and then lifts a hand suddenly, cupping Jongdae’s jaw before he leans in and lets his forehead rest on the assassin’s shoulder. He’s shaking, ever so slightly, like a leaf in a cold winter breeze.   
“Calm down.”, Jongdae instructs him silently and pulls out of his hold, stepping towards the window as he swings his coat around himself. “Tonight is just a lot of climbing. You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”  
“Are _you?”,_ Baekhyun asks back and Jongdae knows he’s fine. The moment of fear has passed.   
He motions for the open window then, swinging himself over the windowsill to disappear into the night.   
  
Baekhyun has seen him do this several times already, falling off of the edge of a roof, scaling a building by just pulling himself out of a window like this. It always reminds him of the way Jongdae disappeared out of sight in the safehouse, during their five days there trapped together. This time though, he is able to follow. Jongdae’s hand is already waiting to pull him up over the edge of the roof, steadying him on the narrow rim of the cupola they’re balancing on. The night around them feels heavy with the cold of the river’s bracketing the city - but clean and free of heat, unlike the nights in the temple, where the heat always seems to linger during the bitter cold of the moonlight.   
“Over there.”, Jongdae tells him with an outstretched arm. “The tower with the golden roof. Can you see it? It’s the sorcerer’s tower. Yixing said the alchemist’s study is on the floor right beneath the astronomy observatory.”  
“That’s…Pretty far up, isn’t it?”, Baekhyun asks and follows him across the roof, staggering just slightly. “Will we take the stairs?”  
“No.”, Jongdae snorts and signals him to halt so they can climb down to the neighbouring roof. He hears Baekhyun mutter a thanks to whatever god might be watching over them, when their feet hit a flat, simple stone roof. They walk in silence then, Jongdae leading the way and Baekhyun following.   
  
The Delta is alive even at this hour of the night, but Jongdae doesn’t seem bothered, even when there are people pointing up at them, muttering and sometimes even children waving. He allows himself to wave back at a little girl, chasing a cat down the street, her eyes round and wide and her voice shrill as she yells for her mother “mommy! mommy come look! One of the shadows just waved at me! Come look!”.   
“That wasn’t smart.”, Baekhyun points out as they pull themselves up over the next roof, down into an alley and through a zig-zag of streets and canals. Up it goes again, just in the shadow of the tower.   
It’s so tall, the shadow of the building falls across half of the city, shrouding the two men in darkness as Jongdae helps him up the last house.   
“What makes you think so?”, Jongdae asks, untying the knot of his cloak to throw it onto the ground. Baekhyun studies him for a moment, pursing his lips and then says:   
“Waving at the little girl brought attention to us, didn’t it? We should work in the darkness and the silence of the night, not wave at people in the street.”

Jongdae hums then, motioning for Baekhyun to take off his own cloak, then looks up towards the top of the tower, neck craning and Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.   
“The Delta is different from the city state of the order.”, he replies after several minutes of inspecting the tower in front of them, lips moving silently as he takes in every window, every balcony, every chain hanging low with flags and sundials or bells.   
“Here, the people are aware of us and they have no fear. They know that the brotherhood does not hunt them as long as they are honest, reverent people. The brotherhood means no harm to those, who do the right thing.”  
He pauses, glances at Baekhyun over his shoulder quickly and then walks backwards, counting his steps until he hits the far edge of the house. Baekhyun looks positively uncomfortable by now, eyes flickering from Jongdae to the abyss separating them from the building and the tower.  Jongdae only smirks, cocking an eyebrow in a silent demand and Baekhyun follows him, cursing softly under his breath. 

“Those who overstep the laws of equality and godly justice, are the ones who should quiver in fear. And those who do so in the Delta, know that the arm of the brotherhood will reach them, wherever they might run to. Go.”  
He pushes himself off as he always does, a predator of divine grace as his muscles lock and he darts forward, long strides covering the distance of the house in a matter of seconds. But Baekhyun has seen him do this many times, knows his movements by now and Jongdae is aware of that.  He would never ask this from the man beside him, if he wasn’t sure he could make it, too.  
Baekhyun’s breathing is leveled, controlled just the way Jongdae showed him and if it weren’t for the distance in front of them, he might have praised him for it. 

They jump, almost in perfect alignment, aiming for the balcony just a little to the right. 

“Great.”, Baekhyun huffs as he lets Jongdae tug him onto the banister, dusting off his pants. “Now we only have to do that… seventy times.”  
“Don’t be an idiot.”, Jongdae tells him sternly and claps a hand onto his shoulder. “Climbing will be much easier.”  
Baekhyun doesn’t look convinced at all.  
  
  
“You. Are a liar.”, Baekhyun repeats once more, perhaps for the fiftieth time as they make it up the last flag chain, arms trembling and sweat running down his face. He nearly slips, catches himself with a foot hooked into the chain links, cursing so loudly Jongdae has to shush him several times.  
“And you expect me to do this again?”, the panting man asks him, damning Jongdae to hell and back again for not even looking out of breath at all, even after all the stories they just had to crest.   
“Tomorrow? Let me tell you-”  
“Shut up!”, Jongdae whispers hotly, nearly screams at him although his voice doesn’t lift above the volume of a breath.   
“You’ll wake up the entire tower. Remind me to not indulge you in sexual activities before your next kill. It seems to have killed your common sense.”  
Baekhyun instantly snaps his mouth shut, holding out a hand in a silent plea for Jongdae to pull him the rest of the way - which he does, despite sighing so deeply, his entire body movies with it. 

The double doors in front of them are open, when they swing their legs across the banister of the final balcony,  the air streaming out of the sickle shaped room warm and too sweet in Baekhyun’s nose.   
He coughs, covers his nose with his hand, before Jongdae shoots him a withering glare and he lets his hand fall back to his side. They can smell the smoke of a wick, melted wax and burning wood as they sidle into the room - Jongdae on the far left while Baekhyun ducks into the shadows just beyond the doorway. There are several tables around them, bending with the weight of books and jars, appliances and instruments Baekhyun has never seen before. Curling glass, so thin he can barely see it in the twilight of the room, filled with blue and yellow liquids. Severed fish heads in tubes so big, they reach from the floor to the middle of his chest.   
“What are we looking for?”, he breathes towards where Jongdae stands, enveloped in a shadow so deep, it makes the black of his clothes pale in comparison. The other man lays a finger to his lips, curls his fingers in a come hither motion and Baekhyun steps away from the tube, shuddering when he walks past trays of dissected, butchered snakes, long needles holding open their bodies to reveal the pale, already decaying flesh inside.   
“Thornberries.”, Jongdae mumbles, holding out a hand full of purple, oval shaped berries to him. “Poisonous. Not unusual to find in an alchemists study. But not without the pot or the plant itself.”

Baekhyun chews on his bottom lip for a moment, works his jaw back and forth and then mutters back: “Isn’t the root more fit to poison the wells? The berries would tint the water blue, the root is tasteless and neutral in smell.”  
Jongdae stops, hand hovering over the bowl with berries and then he turns to look over his shoulder - and he looks impressed, eyebrows raised and mouth lifted into a lopsided smile.    
“I’ve been paying attention to Seungwan, thank you.”, Baekhyun grins and pivots on the heel of his soft leather boot. His fingers wander over the backs of several books in the shelfs lining the only straight wall of the room, feeling leather and parchment under his fingers.  It’s a study full of things Junmyeon would have killed for, he thinks to himself while he squats in front of a stack of unknown, dried orbs that look like pumpkins, skin shriveled and dotted with black.  The cracking of wood makes him flinch, nearly lose his balance and when he turns, he sees Jongdae bent over a crate, dagger in hand to pull out the nails keeping it shut. 

“Is it the root?”, he asks and winces at how loud his voice sounds. “Or something else?”

Jongdae only shakes his head, moving on to the next crate and then to another. Baekhyun sits there, watching him. He’s tired, his muscles burning and the thought of climbing down the tower again, has him already trembling in exhaustion and fear of falling. It’s easy for Jongdae, he knows.  He wasn’t made for this, not yet and they are both aware of it. Why else should Jongdae let him sit there on the carpet, doing nothing?  
The thought makes him smile, eyes tracing over the moving shadows surrounding the other, curling around his feet. How long will it take him to come this far?   
“Stop staring.”, Jongdae instructs him after several minutes of silence and breaking wood in between. “There are a couple of sacks over there. Check those. And - wait. Did you say Thornberry root?”  
“Yes?”, Baekhyun gives back, hesitantly. “You’ve been an assassin longer than I am, you should know what we’re looking for.”  
Jongdae doesn’t reply, only looks at him with something etched into his features that is close to… embarrassment. Avoiding his gaze, the man mutters: “This is your test, not mine, Baekhyun. Your target to prove guilty and dispatch.”  
“You.”, Baekhyun accuses, pointing a finger at him in victory. “Never studied herbs!”

“I did.”, Jongdae hisses, jaw set. “No apprentice-”  
“But not as much as I did.”, Baekhyun grins and saunters over to his side, slinging an arm around his shoulder to whisper into his ear: “And now you don’t know what you’re looking for.”  
“Your test.”, Jongdae repeats lowly, a growl swinging in his words, making his chest vibrate where Baekhyun has a palm pressed against the muscle. “Not mine.”  
“Who are you?”, a female voice suddenly asks behind them and they spring apart, Jongdae hissing angrily and Baekhyun stumbling into a table, knocking over one of the apparatuses, that shatters on the floor, sprinkling the thick carpet with a myriad of sharp-glittering shards.  He’s disoriented for a moment, eyes flickering back and forth in the darkness of the room before he finds the wide, frightened eyes of a green eyed woman standing by the door, clutching a basket of flowers to her abundant, gold-adorned bosom. She’s dressed in a gown seemingly completely made of silver and golden threat, the pleat of the fabric hugging her body just right, leaving nothing to the imagination without revealing too much skin. She’s beautiful, just as Yixing told them, but laden with jewels and kohl that is lined thickly around her cat-like, Smaragd eyes. It’s clear she’s aware of her beauty, though, what with the way she moves, her eyes traveling across the both of them as if to gauge their reactions upon her arrival. And yet, there is something sharp and cunning around her too, the slope of her mouth surrounded by deep lines of fear and worry. 

“How did you-”, she starts, but then falls silent as her gaze wanders to the open balcony doors and there is sudden understanding dawning on her sun kissed features, a hard line appearing around her lips.   
“You’re members of the brotherhood.”

Baekhyun’s eyes flickers over to Jongdae, who’s still hissing, whispering from between bared teeth: “Don’t look at  _ me.  _ This is your target, not mine. I can’t touch her.”  
“You  _ are.”,  _ the woman says accusingly, but there is utter defeat written all over her features. And while Baekhyun sees Jongdae tense up by the other side of the room, ready to spring into action if needed - he waits for her to scream. He’s waiting for it, for the panic to set in, but it doesn’t.  Instead, she takes a deep breath and sets the basket down, pulling a short cutting knife from the mountain of overflowing flowers inside of it.  Jongdae makes a sound close to a hissing cat, but she’s not looking at him at all. Her eyes stay trained on Baekhyun and suddenly he feels singled-out by her heavy gaze, as if she noticed he’s the limping wolf while his companion is lethal. 

“You’re the one who is supposed to kill me.”, she observes and Baekhyun reaches for his dagger, gaze on the knife she raises as if to defend herself. “Come, then.”  
“If you fight, you will make it worse for you.”, Baekhyun tells her sincerely, ignoring Jongdae’s silent warning from the side - don’t talk to her. Kill her. You don’t owe her an explanation.  
“It will be painful for me either way.”, the woman replies and raises her knife, Jongdae moving Baekhyun’s peripheral view. He moves too, out of reflex, bracing himself against an attack - but the knife isn’t aimed at them, the crooked blade instead slicing deep and jagged into her own forearm. Her scream is shrill and loud, full of panic and agony. It’s a decoy, a trap, Baekhyun realizes just in the moment she opens her mouth and yells at the top of her lungs:   
“Guards! Guards! Help! Murderers in the tower! Help!” 

She clutches at her arm, smears blood over her fingers, over her dress and up her throat, screaming as if she’s in the presence of nothing but a living nightmare, her green eyes so wide, Baekhyun can see all the white surrounding the color.  Jongdae presses out a curse, throwing himself forward the same time Baekhyun moves, but instead of lunging at the screeching alchemist, he jumps right into the arms of a guard, who runs towards the door, which hits the wall behind and leaves a nasty dent in one of the bookshelves.  There are books and scrolls tumbling to the floor, knocking over tubes of liquid and spilling preserved bugs and snakes across the thick, rich carpet. Baekhyun can’t watch, no matter how much he wants to - wants to watch the way Jongdae’s strong left arm around the guards neck, the right shooting upwards to bring up his blade, a shrill yell following. But he can’t watch, not right now.   
Instead, he makes for the woman, who scrambles out of his reach and whirls around so she can run for the door, pushing her way through the small group of soldiers streaming up the staircase just behind the opening between the shelves.  He stumbles through them, twisting out of their grabbing hands - but he can hear Jongdae behind him, hears the pain filled grunts behind himself as he storms down the stairs, the hint of a silver dress leading him through the spiral staircase. There are windows breaking through the wall, letting in glittering, pale light that paints long shadows across the stairs and the wall to his right. It’s a play of light and shadow as he runs, slowing down his own breathing to listen to her steps.  There is a landing just a couple of steps below, more guards streaming up from far lower than they currently are. He still has enough time to catch up to her and kill her - enough time to do that so he can join Jongdae to help him. His dagger can’t touch blood but the one of his target, he repeats the other man’s words in his mind, speeding up. 

The alchemist screams in shock when he barrels into her, grabbing her by the neck to slam her into the wall on the right. She grunts as the side of her head hits the stone, but she’s still strong enough to kick at him, bucking and twisting in his arms to scratch at his face.  He hears himself growl in both annoyance and pain - a sound that is so foreign to him, he startles upon hearing it, his hold slipping on her. She flinches away from him then, green eyes wide and starts fighting him in earnest, hammering her free hand against his shoulders and chest while he keep his fingers wrapped tightly around her other wrist - so tightly indeed that he can feel her bones cracking in his grip, her skin bruising visibly with every shift of his hand against her arm. 

“Let me go!”, she begs, trying to pull away from him, hitting wherever she can reach. “Let me  __ go!”  
He catches himself growling louder at her - in warning and annoyance - reaching for his dagger when she kicks at his knees, slapping the blade out of his hold. His hold on it falters, just enough for him to be distracted by it and she uses the moment of inattention to finally rip herself away from him.  He lets the knife go, reaching for her again with both hands and catches her by the neck.   
The woman trips in his hold, falling backwards and Baekhyun throws his body back to balance out the weight pulling on him, watching her as her legs tangle in her own dress.   
It’s horror, instinctual and old, as he watches her fall against the window, breaking it. And his hands slip over her forearms, through the blood she spread there by herself. She falls, in silent horror. 

Through the window, tumbling into the darkness even though he tries to catch her. 

She doesn’t even scream. 

There’s a stretch of silence, blood thundering in his ears as he stares at the broken window, pieces of gold-embroidered fabric hanging off the sharp edges, dripping with red. For a long moment, he just stands there, frozen in shock and his thoughts racing with guilt. before there is a loud, blood curdling scream from below. It rips through him like a clap of thunder and he jerks away from the window, whirling around to shake the panic from his bones, running straight into Jongdae’s chest.  
“Baekhyun.”, the assassin says and Baekhyun blinks at the tone of his voice, the hands grabbing his upper arms to shake him. “Are you okay?”  
“What?”, he asks, still trying to sort through the haze and the adrenaline pulsing through him, wave after excruciating wave. Jongdae shakes him then, only once, but it’s enough for him to break away - or at least, try to. The other man’s grip on his arms is so tight, it might as well be bruising.   
“Where is alchemist Hyorin?”, he asks sharply, searching for his eyes as if he’s looking for the answers there. Answers to questions Baekhyun doesn’t even understand.   
“Window.”, he gets out then and suddenly realizes he’s shaking violently, fingers curling around Jongdae’s fingers when the man pushes past him towards the window.   
They’re sticky with blood and for a moment he sees the assassin flinch away from it, as it burned him.   
“We need to go.”, he whispers, turning his hand so he can tighten his hold around Baekhyun’s own, pulling him towards a door leading from the landing into a room just like the one above. “The guards are coming. I can’t fight them on my own when- when you can’t fight for yourself? Can you fight for yourself?”  
Jongdae’s voice is urgent, sharp but soothing and Baekhyun tries to speak, but he’s trembling so hard, he can’t even think. The blood on his fingers reminds him of Jisoo, of the way she had sagged down into Jongdae’s arms with her eyes wide in shock, accusing and desperate at the same time. 

“I…”, he starts and Jongdae makes an angry sound, grasping his chin between his fingers as soon as the door falls shut behind them, leaving them in the near pitch black of the room.   
“Are you hurt?”, he asks, fixing their gazes together and Baekhyun manages to shake his head, his sticky fingers slipping through Jongdae’s. “That’s not your blood, then?”  
“No.”, Baekhyun whispers back and Jongdae grunts, stepping backwards and letting go of him.   
“Good.”, he says sternly and starts walking towards the window, peeking outside. He stands there for just a heartbeat, but it’s too long for Baekhyun’s taste, when the world around him seems to spin faster and faster and out of control.   
“Calm down.”, Jongdae suddenly barks and he startles, eyes snapping towards the assassin once again, who is walking back towards him with sure, strong steps.   
“We need to make it at least two floors down. We’re too high up and you’re not in any position to make the climb.”  
“Did you kill the guards?”, Baekhyun whispers back instead of an answer and for a moment, there is something almost soft flickering across Jongdae’s face, before she shakes his head.   
“No. I tried not to. An assassin’s price is the blood of their target, not the life of an innocent.”, he replies curtly, turning back to the open door. The thundering of boots is loud on the stairs by now.   
“Listen, Baekhyun.”, Jongdae starts then, moving on the spot as if to shake the tension out of his limbs, ready to start running again. “You need to be able to defend yourself now. You’ve been trained by masters of the brotherhood. You’re going to be a master yourself. Have faith in your abilities now. And if you can’t do it for yourself…” A glance, a lopsided smile. “Do it for me at least.”

He nods, even though the words barely register in his head. It’s the meaning, that reaches his soul, soothing him and having him step next to Jongdae, ready to push into the crowd that is barreling towards them from downstairs.   
“Kill them, if you must. But make it out alive.”, Jongdae tells him and there is this wicked glint again, the magnetic pull that has Baekhyun reaching out, touching the back of Jongdae’s hand with the tips of his fingers, before it starts. The way Jongdae moves, all claws and teeth, reminds Baekhyun of their first night, of the way the assassin cut down the sanctum guards like a farmer would cut down reed surrounding a stream. But where Jongdae was terrifying to him back then, he isn’t anymore now. Instead, Baekhyun is able to follow his every move, fall into the open spaces Jongdae leaves unconsciously, slipping into the gaps in his  movements where Jongdae easily falls into his own.   
They push through the mass of guards streaming up the stairs like a sickle, barrelling through almost as if they weren’t more than common men. And while Baekhyun could have held his own against an attack before, now he’s a weapon - forged under the hands of the very man he now fights alongside with. He knows the patterns of Jongdae’s attacks, has fought against and with him, has run with him countless of times. And so he falls easily into step with the assassin as soon as they push through the crowd, Jongdae’s hand strong around his upper arm. His body is moving on muscle memory only, alchemist Hyorin’s shocked, panicked face still too fresh inside his mind whenever he blinks. 

It’s weird, he thinks while he let’s Jongdae shove him through the door at the bottom of the tower, drag him around into the alleys they emerged from earlier. The city looks so different from below.   
It’s weird, because he was ready to cut her throat, but seeing her fall through a broken window has his fingers shaking and his insides flaring with shame. It’s as if he failed.   
  
“Come on, Baekhyun!”, Jongdae’s voice cuts through his thoughts and he rips himself out of the other man’s hold, trying to match his pace.   
But the climb up the tower has his muscles burning like acid underneath his skin, his lungs cramping with every breath he takes.   
“Hassanssin!”, the call sounds behind them, loud and clear. “Hassanssin!”   
And Baekhyun can do nothing but run faster, trying to keep up with the man sprinting in front of him, smeared in blood and sweat. The city blurs around him, shadows moving into each other, every door seeming like an open mouth ready to swallow him. He feels panic well up inside of him, hot and boiling and scalding his insides and he nearly slips, scrambles for a wall and catches the back of Jongdae’s tunic instead, who slides to a halt so abruptly, Baekhyun runs into him.

“Stay here.”, the assassin commands him, pressing him back into the shadow of an open doorway, both hands planted firmly onto his shoulders. “You’re slowing me down.” 

“I’m-”

“If you apologize now, I’ll punch you.”, Jongdae promises him darkly and he snaps his mouth shut, eyes searching for Jongdae’s, who looks to the side as if he’s waiting for the guards to track them down.   
“You’re not going to distract them while I make a run for it.”, Baekhyun decides harshly and Jongdae’s grin is dark when he turns back to face him. “I can’t lead them back to Seho’s inn.”  
“But Jongdae, you won’t make it on your own.”  
“I’ve made it on my own my entire life, Baekhyun.”, comes the silent, almost teasing answer. There is something unspoken lingering between them, then. A sentence hanging in the air separating them from each other. Things won’t change just because Baekhyun is there now.  Jongdae is still the man he was before. And it’s not as if he ever needed Baekhyun. It was the other way around and they both know it. The night in front of the sanctum, Heechul - even Jongdae’s own apprentice. It was Jongdae, who rescued him. 

“Alright.”, Baekhyun whispers finally and imagines there is the hint of a smile on Jongdae’s lips.   
“You’re faster than me.”, he adds and Jongdae takes a step back, gripping his fingers to collect the little bit of Hyorin’s blood that is left on them. “And I’ll wait for you at Seho’s.”  
“Yes.”, Jongdae nods and shoots another glance down the alley. When he turns back towards Baekhyun, his eyes are as black as the shadows surrounding them. “But first…”  
He looks down at his fingers, at the blood clinging to his skin and presses them against the other’s lips, smearing them with crimson. He licks over them, the brush of his tongue more a reflex than anything else and Jongdae whispers: “Blood of the tainted. Your first kill. It will pave the way for the god to find its home inside of you.”   
And Baekhyun surges forward, connecting their lips so they share the copper taste, hungry and reckless. even though he feels as if he’s burning up from the inside out with sudden desire, the blood singing on his tongue and inside his veins. They shouldn’t be kissing - not when there are guards chasing after them, seeking revenge. But here they are, Jongdae’s hands in his hair and their lips pressed together so tightly it hurts. It lasts no longer than a couple of heartbeats before Jongdae steps away, fingers brushing over Baekhyun’s cheek as he turns and vanishes into the darkness surrounding them. He stands there, for a couple of seconds, trying to slow down his breathing while he listens to the chaos unfold somewhere in the night. And he thinks he will never get used to the screams of wounded men, to the racing of his heart even though he is the one hiding in the shadows.   
This is what it feels like to be on the other side, he thinks to himself while he presses back into the doorway, pulling his hood up around his face.

So this is what it feels like to be one with the dark.   
  
  
By the time Jongdae swings himself through the open window of their room, Baekhyun is pacing with his thumb between his teeth, the skin surrounding his fingernail raw and red and starting to bleed from the way his teeth dig into the flesh, gnawing in anxious tension.  
“What took you so long?”, Baekhyun whispers angrily, grabbing the other man by the front of his garments to pull him across the windowsill.   
Jongdae looks pale - more than usual so - and exhausted, his eyes lined with blue and red that is already starting to swell. “Are you hurt?”  
“Do I look like I am?”, Jongdae asks right back, brushing off his hands and pulling his shirt over his head to drop it to the ground, walking towards the bowl of water meant for them to wash up.   
  
“I was scared you wouldn’t-”

“You should never be scared.”, Jongdae tells him with a sharp turn of his head, eyes gleaming in the twilight of the rising sun.   
“You’re a member of the brotherhood now. Losing me or killing a target shouldn’t scare you and you know that.”  
Baekhyun knows, yes, but he desperately wants to disagree. Because the heat in Jongdae’s gaze isn’t just the thrill of the hunt, not only the blood still singing in his veins. It’s the fever of something he has never seen burning across Jongdae’s features. And Baekhyun knows what it is, even though none of them will say it out loud. He is not the only one scared, tonight.   
“Let me.”, Baekhyun instead says and steps forward, taking the clean, wet cloth from the other’s fingers and Jongdae lets him, his gaze heavy on him. There’s a cut along the assassin’s forearm, one across his shoulder and his eye is starting to bruise. But he’s alive, Baekhyun tells himself while wiping away blood and sweat from the man’s skin, knowing that he’s watching.  Perhaps, so he thinks while Jongdae takes the cloth back from him and tosses it back into the bowl, telling Baekhyun to sleep with a voice lined with gravel and thunder, they both know what is left unspoken that night. 


	10. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look! Smut and drama! The best combination if you ask me.   
> This is another double update, just saying! We're taking very big steps towards the end <3

“If you want something, you should take it.”, Minseok rumbles into his ear and Baekhyun flinches so hard, he nearly spills his honey wine, little drops of golden liquid running over the back of his hand and sticking between his fingers.   
“What are you talking about?”, he asks, turning his head just slightly, so he can look over at the god, who’s standing beside him as if he did this all night, arms crossed over his broad, naked chest.  The man just jerks his chin forward, pointing to where Baekhyun’s eyes had lingered before.  It could be anything in the crowd of masters and apprentices, mingling together so tightly, the crowd is thick with tension and laughter, conversations bleeding into each other until all Baekhyun can hear is the murmur of wordless voices. He’s almost invisible between them by now, his eyes a brown so deep it could as well be black, his hair the same color. He’s losing his colors, just as all of them did.   
And even though it could have been anything - anyone - Baekhyun knows where the god is pointing and it has hot shame racing through him.   
Shame and fear at the same time, because Minseok looks at him so knowingly, his skin crawls.   
“You’ve been looking at him like this for quite some time now, you see.”, Minseok tells him and he sounds as amused as always, pushing himself even closer to Baekhyun’s side so he can feel the little lingering heat still inside the god’s body. “And if you want something, you should take it. You’re an assassin now, little soldier. You are an accepted member now, after returning from your first kill.” 

“I’m not-”

“Yes, you are.”, Minseok cuts him off and takes his goblet from between his fingers, emptying it with his head tipped back so far, Baekhyun can see his Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows.   
“And everybody knows. But you’re not without competition. He’s a very… alluring man. Especially to the younger ones.”  
Oh, Baekhyun knows.  He’s seen the way they look at Jongdae, how they touch him as he passes to get his attention.  The full moon hanging above has them loose and relaxed, drunk with wine and smoke from the high water pipes scattered across thick carpets and between pillows. They’re unrestrained in the way they talk, laugh and drink, sharing food between lips and teeth and even more touches that would have had him turning his head away in shame a couple of months ago.   
  
“Go and ask Seungwan for help.”, Minseok tells him as he drops the goblet to the floor, brushing past Minseok so close, a shiver runs down his spine. The presence of the god next to him always has him feeling like a rabbit, thrown into a snake’s basket.  Baekhyun knows he’s been staring. But it’s strange to him, seeing Jongdae like this, laughing and smiling along with whatever story Sehun and Soojung are telling, mistress Choa hiding her own laughter behind her small, balled up fist as she leans into Jongdae’s side, her other hand curling around his forearm possessively. He was told that the celebration of the full moon - the start of a new circle, a new month and such new life - is no place for worries, for ranks.  Masters and apprentices mix that night, forgetting the rules that pull them apart, forgetting the impending blood that has to be spilled between them, sooner or later. 

But he doesn’t feel drunk on the wine, doesn’t feel relaxed and loose like they seem to be. 

All of them are talking and eating, while he stands by the pillars, watching Jongdae where he stands between his fellow masters - and Baekhyun feels like a stranger, looking in through a window.  He sighs, runs a hand through his hair and turns away, lips thin and pressed together angrily.  There were never any promises attached to Jongdae’s kisses, no promises of devotion, but there were those moments of them just looking at each other, of Jongdae’s lips by his ear, whispering sweet nothings to him while his hand wrapped around Baekhyun’s arousal, pushing him over the edge.  He’s jealous, he realizes with a quick glance back over his shoulder, seeing Choa leaning up onto her tiptoes to whisper into Jongdae’s ear, making him smile. It’s a tender smile, soft and carefree with the wine he consumed, with the tension of their mission finally bleeding out of his muscles.  And Baekhyun wants Jongdae to look at him like this, wants him to smile at what Baekhyun said, splay his fingers wide across his lower back as he’s doing with Choa right now.  He wants him - he’s known that for quite some time now, but right now the thought feels like the bite of a rotten egg in his mouth. 

“Seungwan.”, he greets the mistress lounging in one of the divans, her long legs stretched out across the dark red velvet and her black dress curling between her calves.   
“Baekhyun.”, she nods back with a smile that is a little bit too knowing for his taste. She offers him a seat by her side, slinging her legs easily over his lap and he settles back on the cushions, her hand on his arm and his on her naked, smooth upper thigh. “What brings you to me? Just my lovely company, or something else?”  
“I think you know what brings me here.”, he tells her easily and her tinkling laughter only asserts his own assumption.   
Her eyes twinkle, nearly no white left in them as she turns to look at him, swishing her wine back and forth in her goblet.   
“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.”, she shrugs and presses a kiss to the side of his neck before settling her head onto his shoulder, eyes finding Jongdae in the crowd. It’s not hard to follow his own gaze, he knows.   
“Are you jealous, little butterfly?”, she asks him, voice glittering with humor and he grunts, tries to shrug her head off his shoulder but she remains leaned against him.   
“Do you want me to distract you? Or did you come find me because you finally decided you want to do more than just kiss him?”  
He shifts, feels her hands slide over his shoulders, one settling in the back of his neck, the other across his collarbone as she plays with the collar of his shirt. The breath that hits his ear makes him shudder, remembering Minseok’s earlier words and the way the god stood just a little bit too close to him for comfort.  But her words are alluring, so different from the ones breathed into his ear, when she whispers:   
“He already let you closer I’ve ever seen anyone get… Even with me in his bed, he never lets go as much as he does when you’re around. He isn’t on guard with you next to him.”

“With you in his bed?”, Baekhyun echoes and turns his head just so Seungwan’s are brushing over his when they speak. “So you’ve…”  
“Of course.”, Seungwan replies easily and the hand in his nape squeezes softly. Consoling. Her mouth tastes like cherries when she leans forward just that tiny bit more, her lips pressing against his, but not quite in a kiss. “We grew up together. I was the one who taught him that sex is more than just someone taking and another giving. I taught him that it brings pleasure, instead of pain.”  
He hums then, fingers digging into her thigh and he hears her laugh, feels her stuttering breath against his face. But his eyes are on Jongdae, the way he pulls Choa just a little bit closer, bends down to mutter into her ear before he pulls away to refill the chalice in his hand.  He looks like a different man, Baekhyun thinks while he lets his gaze follow Jongdae’s movements through the gathered masters and students. So free from those chains that always pull his spine and shoulders straight, the corners of his mouth down. 

“Why would he need someone to teach him that?”, he asks softly and Seungwan’s fingers travel over his skin, up the base of his skull and into this hair.   
“Isn’t that something that… should be natural to humans? The pleasures of the flesh?”  
“It should be.”, she nods next to him, her chin hooking over his shoulder while her arm dangles across his chest.   
“Not for him, though. Not for most of us. Taeyeon was a brilliant assassin, so close to achieving godhood. You should have seen her… so beautiful, so skilled. Grace and blood. But a cruel mistress.”

Baekhyun already knew that.

He saw the scars littering Jongdae’s body, listened to him talk when all his walls were torn down by exhaustion and grief over Jisoo’s death. He ran his fingers over them, watches Jongdae flinch and squirm away from his touch as if the brush of Baekhyun’s fingertips across them was igniting the memories those markings brought with them. And even though Jongdae’s kisses and touches might have been gentle in those moments of weakness and fatigue, they never were ever again.  Taeyeon might have been the reason for that, might still be.  Perhaps she is the reason for Jongdae’s behaviour towards Jisoo too, the way he commanded her around, never had a word of praise for her. While he had all the praise for Baekhyun.   
  
“In the end, he became what he hated the most.”, Seungwan tells him so silently, he barely hears it. He’s not sure what she means, so he stays mum, allows himself to play a guessing game.   
“Even in the throes of pleasure, he would never allow himself to be the weak one, Baekhyun.”, she says then, eventually, taking a sip from her wine and chasing after the taste with a brush over her tongue.   
“Not ever again. Maybe not even for you.”  
“What do you mean?”, he asks, voice breaking with his whisper. “Not even with me?”  
She just smiles, cups the side of his cheek and leans in to kiss him gently, just a simple press of lips against lips, sharing the taste of lilacs and cherries with him as the red clings to his mouth.   
“You have to be willing to be the one submitting to him, little butterfly. If you can, you should go over there and claim him for yourself tonight. If not…”   
“I already knew that.”, Baekhyun answers her when she doesn’t continue her sentence. “So…”  
Her smile broadens, just that tiny little bit that has her eyes crinkling.   
“I can help you, if you want to. Or I can just provide you with everything you need. But the courage to tell him… well. Nobody but yourself can take that off your shoulders.”   
He takes a deep breath then, hands flickering over her skin, feeling the way her small, pliant body presses into his back, seems to surround him in a way that is unsettling and consoling at the same time. He knows what she’s offering and even though he appreciates the thought, this is something he has to do himself. Nobody can take this off his shoulders, indeed.  
“No, thank you, Seungwan.”, he says then, slowly. “I only need the necessities from you.”  
“I already guessed that.”, she answers with a silent laugh and waves a hand, her apprentice Lalisa by her side in the blink of an eye, bending down just low enough for Seungwan to whisper into her ear.   
The girls eyes flicker over towards the mistress, then over to Baekhyun, but she doesn’t speak.  Instead she nods, bows and leaves, without looking back at them or the way they are intertwined on the divan. Seungwan’s fingers are gentle in his hair, even while she untangles her legs from his lap and her dress, nudging him with the naked tips of her toes. 

“Everything you need will be ready in Jongdae’s chambers. Now, all you have to do…”  
“Yes.”, he cuts her off gently and leans over to kiss her on the cheek. “You have my thanks.”  
She only looks at him with her head cocked to the side, a gleam to her eyes that is far from human. It reminds of the cold, pale light of the moon above. Like the soothing touch of water to a burn, but yet mischievous and knowing all at once.  He takes her goblet from her, takes a sip of her wine and hands it back to her with a nod, brushing off the divan to push his way through the easily parting sea of people. Nobody glances his way, nobody stops him as he makes his way over to where Jongdae is still talking to Sehun and Han, Choa by his side with her arm now wrapped around his middle almost possessively.   
And yet, even though his back is turned and there is someone else in his arms, Jongdae turns his head, just so. It’s a small movement, as if he felt Baekhyun coming and the moment his hand meets the assassin’s shoulder, Jongdae’s arm fall away from around Choa’s body, reaching out for him so easily, it nearly scares him. The mistress makes a small, surprised sound when Jongdae lets Baekhyun round him, never letting go of his wrist even while they have to turn around each other to come face to face.   
  
“I already wondered where you are.”, Jongdae tells him and the wine in his veins has him sounding teasing and warm, even though his face is as hard as ever.   
“I mingled.”, Baekhyun answers with a shrug and then steps so close, their chests are touching, Jongdae meeting his eyes unafraid and unyielding.   
“But I will leave now. I want you tonight, Jongdae. It will be me you’re taking with you for this full moon.”  
He expects Jongdae to protest - or maybe even Choa to protest in his stead - but instead he watches the black of the man’s eyes expand, swallowing every white left in them, until he stares right at the god already living inside Jongdae’s soul, powerful and dark.   
“How could I argue with you, if you’re so sure of that.”, Jongdae replies around the edge of his chalice, the slightest of curl to his lips. “If you say so, Baekhyun.”  
“Yes.”, Baekhyun smiles back, not even once glancing over at the people surrounding them. “I am.”  
Jongdae licks over his lips then, just a hint of his tongue, but it’s enough warning Baekhyun needs, before he leans in to kiss him. It’s chaste, soft and sticky with wine, but it’s a promise of darkness and lust too. And he answers, threading his fingers into the soft, short hair at the base of Jongdae’s head, pulling him in just close enough to nip at his bottom lip before he steps away.   
“Go ahead then, if you are sure.”, Jongdae tells him silently and gestures towards him with his cup.  And Baekhyun turns around and leaves, knowing that Jongdae’s eyes are heavy on his back. 

 

He’s standing by the terrace leading out into the desert, shirt chucked away into some corner, cheeks already flushed and fingers still slicked with oil from when he worked himself open. His pants are loosely knotted, hanging low on his hips and he breathes in deeply the moment he hears the beads of he curtain behind him clatter loudly in the silence of the room.  Jongdae’s steps are nearly inaudible across the floor, barefooted and falling softly - but his presence seems to be screaming, calling for Baekhyun to turn around, which he doesn’t.  Instead he keeps himself standing where he is, looking out across the desert that lies silent around the temple. It’s Jongdae, who turns him around, a hand on Baekhyun’s hip and the other cradling his cheek, fingers brushing into his hair while his thumb presses into the edge of his jaw.  There are no words needed, not now.   
All they do is talk, Baekhyun thinks. They talk and talk, but it feels as if neither of them is truly listening. But the way Jongdae slots their mouths together says it all - speaks volumes of the desire burning them both up from the inside out, as they devour each other with one, single kiss.  He wraps his arms around Jongdae’s shoulders, pulls him in so close they are touching from chest to thigh, Baekhyun’s arousal digging into the side of Jongdae’s hip, right where his dagger slid home that very first night they faced each other as men on a battlefield.  Jongdae kisses him in a way that is ravenous and yet mellow, his tongue insistent against Baekhyun’s own as they intertwine - coaxing, luring, teasing all the while they taste each other.  And even though Jongdae is just that tiny bit smaller than him, he seems to tower above him so tall, his broad shoulders having Baekhyun clinging onto them for life, wrapped up in an embrace so strong, he fears the other man would break him in half any second now.  He tugs on Jongdae’s hair then, tilting his head just the right way for them to deepen the kiss and earns a groan in return, fingers digging into his hip bones so hard, they will leave bruises.  It’s a battlefield of its own, Baekhyun thinks while he reaches between them, fingers grasping Jongdae’s shirt tightly before he pulls it up, up, up, revealing smooth, scarred skin as it goes, breaking their kiss just long enough to fall to the floor. And while Jongdae kicks it away, they are already meeting in the middle again, kissing each other just as hungrily as they had with Hyorin’s blood lingering on their tongues. 

Baekhyun lets himself be wrapped up in those arms, feeling the muscles pull taut underneath shimmering alabaster skin like ropes of flesh, knotted tightly. He sinks into it, kisses back with vigor, almost with a vengeance. And yet he’s the one pushing - back, back, back, until Jongdae’s standing just at the edge of his bed, hands framing Baekhyun’s face as he kisses him, giving him permission with a silent, barely-there grunt of approval when he ghosts his hand over the growing bulge in the other’s pants, grinding in just so. Baekhyun’s fingers are shaking as he unties the other’s pants, pushes them down just far enough to reach inside and wrap his fingers around Jongdae’s pulsing, velvety skin, hearing his breath stutter to a sudden halt.  Their mouths don’t part though, breathing and sharing the same air while Jongdae tightens his hold on him, bends his head just enough to nip bruises across his collarbones like the sky dots itself with clouds on a rainy morning above the ocean. Baekhyun groans in wordless consent, tilting his head back so Jongdae has access to his neck, his throat, the sensitive skin just underneath his jaw. And Jongdae goes, one strong hand cradling his face while his teeth and tongue mark him up, painful and delicious.  He’s had Jongdae in his hand before, but this time it feels like so much more - unrestrained, cut loose from a leash he hadn’t known was around his neck. He twists his wrist, drinks in the broken sound Jongdae makes as he fits his palm around the slightly wet head of his length to squeeze, fingers ghosting over the shaft, over the coarse, trimmed hair at the base.   
But Jongdae in his hand isn’t what he wants, not tonight. He fumbles with the drawstrings on the other’s pants then, untying the remaining ones and letting the garment fall to the floor between them, giving Jongdae just enough time to step out of them before he shoves him back onto the bed.  Jongdae bounces, just once, eyes challenging and angry as they meet his own, but he stays mum, transfixed by the way Baekhyun pulls out of his own pants, kicking them aside carelessly and climbing into his lap without preamble.  He hears Jongdae huff as their bodies brush together with even the last remaining barrier gone between them, arms coming up around him to steady and hold him close, their mouths meeting again as if it’s the most natural thing in the world for them by now - biting their way into each other’s minds, ripping through those walls that are still separating them. 

And then Jongdae moans, loud and clear as his fingers brush over Baekhyun’s rear, finding it slick with oil, smeared across each round cheek, down the crack and Baekhyun feels himself shudder, hears himself whine brokenly when there are fingers exploring where he touched himself just minutes before, pushing in so deep he chokes on the air he’s trying to suck in so desperately.  Jongdae’s fingers are thicker than his own, reaching into him in a different angle and Baekhyun trembles, clutches to the other man in pleasure and pain at the same time, as he’s stretched even wider, his insides fluttering helplessly.  He presses reckless kisses into Jongdae’s mouth, hands around his neck and Jongdae answers him with a jab of his fingers in retaliation, only pulling away when Baekhyun bites his tongue, the nails of his thumbs scraping down the front of Jongdae’s throat.  He tries reaching behind himself, tries to guide Jongdae’s swollen arousal into himself, but the world turns on an unknown axis suddenly, his back hitting the mattress and then there is Jongdae, hovering above him with dark, dangerous features. There are shadows throwing themselves into the valleys underneath his cheekbones, across the bridge of his nose and Baekhyun feels breathless - breathless and mindless in the presence of this being that is already more god than human.  He swallows, hikes a leg up over Jongdae’s hip and the other’s hand is already there, meeting his movement to curl a strong hand into his thigh, into the dip above his knee. Baekhyun feels trapped and yet wild at the same time - untamed in his lust when he feels Jongdae sliding into him so smoothly, it’s feels like nothing he’s ever experienced before. There is no fumbling between them, no unnecessary touches, no tender kisses. Just hunger, eating its way through him from the inside out as he throws his head back, moaning in abandon as Jongdae rocks into him, thrusting into him until he’s sheathed all the way.   
  
They’re breathing, like this, foreheads pressed together as the man above him stills and Baekhyun lets his nails rake down over a broad, muscled back, leaving bloody tracks in his wake. But how could he care, when Jongdae’s face twists in painful bliss, his hips grinding in and having Baekhyun’s breath end in a surprised hiccup, clinging even harder to Jongdae.  Their eyes meet then, for the first time since they started kissing and Jongdae looks at him as if he’s seeing him for the first time, eyes so black Baekhyun can see his own reflection in them. Like a mirror made of ink and oil, burning with a golden light that threatens to consume him whole.   
Jongdae is going to be his end. He can see it in those eyes - but perhaps Jongdae has already ended him. He killed the man Baekhyun once was, kills him now, again. Over and over, as they fall into a slow rhythm, Baekhyun’s hips rolling upwards and into the thrusts that shatter through his body, have him throwing his arms above his head to brace himself against the wall, fingernails scraping over stone and ripping himself bloody. Jongdae’s wrapped his arms around him, pushed underneath his body so he can hold him close, making his back arch just in the right way that has Baekhyun nearly sobbing with pleasure, his own arousal trapped between their bodies and rubbing over their stomach with each powerful snap of Jongdae’s hips into his body and he cries out, throwing his head to the side with a broken sob. 

Jongdae’s head rests on his shoulder, turned against his neck to breathe him in, to hide his face. 

He’s biting down so hard on the skin of Baekhyun’s shoulder, he feels it break and bruise, but he doesn’t care. He feels so thoughtless like this, trapped underneath Jongdae, who uses his body to chase after a release that is building up inside of Baekhyun so strongly, he can taste it on the tip if his tongue. It’s Jongdae, who grasps his chin and jaw, slanting their mouths together once again, tongue pushing into Baekhyun’s mouth almost in a obscene mirroring of their bodies joined together as one and Baekhyun feels himself tighten, his fingers gripping onto Jongdae’s hair so tight, he’s sure it hurts.  They were supposed to kill each other once, he thinks while Jongdae holds him tighter, kisses him harder. Supposed to be enemies and now they still are - killing each other with each touch, each unspoken word and the way their bodies move together in a dance that they can’t truly understand. 

Each thrust, each moan and whisper between them ignites a spark that is too bright for Baekhyun to open his eyes to face. 

So he holds Jongdae against himself, moans into his mouth when he clenches after a painful thrust that has him teetering so close to the edge he pulses with it and Jongdae rumbles into their kiss, growls and leans back, wrestling an arm out from underneath him - only to wrap those fingers around Baekhyun’s throat, holding him still without pressing down as their eyes lock together and can’t part anymore. Their gazes can’t stray, Baekhyun can’t close his eyes no matter how much they want to fall shut with his impending orgasm that hits him in the middle of a thrust, a roll of his hips upwards and if it weren’t for Jongdae’s arm in the small of his back, keeping him still, he might have thrashed through it. He’s boneless, feels as if he doesn’t know where his body ends and Jongdae’s own begins.  And perhaps Jongdae is the most beautiful, dangerous thing Baekhyun has ever seen in his entire life when he, too, tumbles over the edge and comes undone, sliding in so deep Baekhyun whines with oversensitivity, his thighs falling open around Jongdae’s slender hips as he savors each pulse, each throb deep inside of his body.   
He’s breathtaking with his mouth falling open and his eyes looking down at Baekhyun as if he’s never seen him before - not really. And yet his look is as black as the night, even while his cheeks are flushed and his hair is matted against his forehead with sweat.  There is no light inside of them, not even the slightest bit. Only Baekhyun’s reflection, staring back at himself. No spark, no fleck of gold, no light, even when he bends down and kisses Baekhyun through it all, sharing the air with him.  It’s like the final stab of a dagger that finally ends the rest of the man Baekhyun might have been before. There is nothing left of him anymore, just the man he created - that Jongdae created too. And he kisses back, holding on tightly even though Jongdae doesn’t pull out of his embrace, too-gentle fingers brushing through the sweaty hair across Baekhyun’s forehead as he whispers against his mouth. It doesn’t matter if Baekhyun understands him or not. 

There is nothing to be said now. 

They’ve met on the battlefield once, on a different one now. Perhaps it all will end on a battlefield too. But for now, Jongdae is his. And Baekhyun allows himself to be greedy.   
  
  
Baekhyun wakes up to the sound of his own breathing, mixed with the heartbeat steadily thumping under his ear where it’s pressed against Jongdae’s chest, moving softly with each exhale and inhale.  
He’s spread out thin, lying in Jongdae’s arms who meets his look through sleep-crusted eyes, blinking slowly before reaching out a hand to touch Baekhyun’s forehead - almost as if he’s not sure if he’s really there, or if he’s nothing but a figment of his own, sleepy mind. Baekhyun’s hand presses into his abdomen, over the defined muscles there, running his blunt nails through the lonely stip of hair that normally disappears into those low-cut linen pants Jongdae wears when he trains, hears the other man hiss through the fog of their night, through the silence between them. They end up kissing again, as if there is a rope between them, pulling them together and Baekhyun sighs into the pillows soon, spread out on the sheets that are still soaked with last nights sweat and the evidence of what they did. He’s pressed into the mattress, feels the rough cotton of the blanket rub his knees raw as he spreads them a little wider, feels his stomach tighten with every slow, almost lazy roll of Jongdae’s hips into his, the other man pinning him down with his own weight, knees spreading Baekhyun’s own apart.   
It’s slow, drunk with dreams and the residue of the wine they both drank last night, Jongdae’s lips nothing but an open-mouthed trail of wet tongue and biting teeth across Baekhyun’s shoulders and upper arms as he takes him again. The heat simmering under his skin is different, that morning - consuming and all encompassing, no trace of that devouring hunger left that had him alight with passion. It’s a different kind of lust, pulsing slow and beating in time with his heart even when he feels Jongdae’s hand push beneath his body, the other bracing against the bed by the side of his head, fingers tangled in Baekhyun’s dark hair to keep him still, to ground him. The fingers wrapping around his length are calloused and rough, but the rhythm they set is excruciating as are the thrusts above him, the lips peppering kisses into his damp hair, curling in his nape.   
And Baekhyun reaches below himself too, fingers lacing through the spaces of Jongdae’s own, stroking himself in time with each gyrating wave of their joined bodies. 

Jongdae’s voice is rough and thick with sleep still, threaded together by lust as he whispers Baekhyun’s name into his ear, presses him down even harder with a hand on the back of his hip.   
It’s the quivering of his words, the trembling of his muscles that have Baekhyun sighing in pleasure, moaning so softly, the sounds swim into each other - nothing but mingling breaths and thundering heartbeats. They stay like that, Jongdae covering him from head to toe, even after they both are sated and strung out, still tired and drifting in and out of slumbering.  When he wakes up again, Jongdae is gone. 

 

Time seems to move slower, after a kill.   
  
It’s always been like that for Jongdae. The thrill, the song of the blood resonating through his body - it all falls away from him the moment he sets foot into the temple, into the slow pace of their lives and his own rituals. He tries to keep himself busy, tires himself out by pushing himself harder and harde - and yet after they returned from the Delta, time moved just as slow as before, but thick with a promise. It’s been a long time coming, he thinks while he rubs a towel over his neck, through his hair and walks out of the basin, ignoring several knowing grins from the other masters and mistresses bathing in the early hours of the morning. A part of him knew it would come to this, the moment he opened his mouth to declare himself Baekhyun’s mentor - the heat still lingering between them from those five, fateful days they spent together in the safehouse. Baekhyun pushed himself into the gaps in Jongdae’s life, no matter how hard he fought against it. But did he really? 

He didn’t fight it, not like he would have with anybody else. He wormed his way into the brotherhood, earned himself a spot in their rows and ranks, losing color more and more each passing day.   
  
And perhaps Jongdae almost misses the blue of his eyes, the indigo that transfixed him, held him captive since he turned on Taeyeon, killing her in Baekhyun’s stead. A part of him does, he thinks while wrapping himself in a simple lungi, dyed a deep, deep indigo blue.  A homage of sorts, he thinks to himself while fixing the sash around his middle, looking down at the scratch marks Baekhyun’s fingernails left behind earlier that morning, welling up with blood and crusted over already.  Jongdae remembers the way Baekhyun looked at him back then, brave but so far away, as if his own soul had forgotten who he really is. Maybe he never knew. And now he does, so confident in the way he carries himself, naturally fitting himself into the brotherhood as if he were never a part of the order to begin with. As if he always belonged to them. To Jongdae. 

The thought has him twitching in irritation, but he doesn’t fight against it. 

Taeyeon told him there needs to be light, if there is dark. Their balance, given by the gods and destroyed by human kind. Yet, here he is, finding himself watching as Baekhyun talks to Yixing over a bowl of steaming soup, nodding along to whatever the other assassin tells him. The jealousy that bubbles up inside of him is as delicious as it is dangerous and Jongdae turns and walks away from it. There is no place for affection like this, not now - not when he feels Minseok’s gaze on him, beckoning him over with a wordless jerk of his head into the corridor leading down to the gods chambers.  No, he  thinks while he follows Minseok into the dark, not right now. Not before things are settled and done. He knows Baekhyun watches him as he leaves by the god’s side.  And again, a part of him wishes that they would walk side by side into whatever this is. 

 

“You played dirty, this time.”, Baekhyun accuses him from the side, poking his upper arm with three sharp fingers, making Jongdae twist away from him with the beginning of a laugh.   
“Did I, now?”, he asks and lets his eyes crinkle with his smile, before tugging Baekhyun close by the collar of his vest, making them stand so close, their noses are touching.   
“You never stop learning, Baekhyun. Your opponents weakness is your strength.”  
The other man snorts then, punches him in the side ever so lightly, but doesn’t move away.   
“So what is today’s lesson, then?”, he wants to know silently and Jongdae breathes in deeply. There are so many things he could say,  _ should  _ say probably. But instead of voicing all those things, he pauses.   
And before he finally speaks, there his this look on Baekhyun’s face again - this expression that tells Jongdae he already knows more than he lets on, than he would ever tell Jongdae he does.   
Furrowed eyebrows, a crease between them as his forehead wrinkles in deep thought.   
“Your hair is getting darker, each day a little bit more.”, Jongdae says then instead of all those things that are on the tip of his tongue. “Have you ever asked yourself, why?” 

Baekhyun breathes in, but doesn’t speak at first. 

A couple of months ago, he would have said the first thing on his mind - still sometimes does - but right now Jongdae sees the thoughts moving inside his head, the way he presses his lips together, licks over them just before he answers: “To move along the path of godhood, you have to follow the creed. The creed will guide your way to the seed inside of you. So I assume…”  
“The closer you are to the true creed”, Jongdae takes over for him while pulling away and starting down the hallway again, dabbing the back of his hand over his slightly sweaty forehead. “The faster the god grows inside of you. An apprentice could aspire before their master does, if only they are devoted to the truth given to us by the dead gods.”  
“You’re praising me.”, Baekhyun tells him with a smile and Jongdae shakes his head with a roll of his eyes, shoots him a long, pointed glance. “Why?”  
Jongdae lifts a shoulder. “I wouldn’t say I’m praising you, exactly. It’s… something you need to know. We all have to realize this at one point. We are, who we are because of the creed. Not the other way around. It’s not us, shaping it. But us getting rewarded the closer we walk to the true, final path. And sometimes that is easy to forget. And I don’t want you to ever forget about this.”  
“I won’t.”, Baekhyun says, suddenly quiet and serious, his face drawn with the same expression as before. Jongdae just sighs and shakes his head softly, whispering: “Everybody does.”

 

There’s a commotion during morning mass, murmuring at the back of the hall, growing louder and louder the more voices join into the chaos of words, surprised exclamations of recognition.   
Jongdae moves next to him, lifting his head from where he was looking down at the floor, muttering along to the creed as Hangeng recited it to them from above, standing with his arms stretched wide.   
Baekhyun nearly moves too, wants to turn and see what is causing the noise, the rustling of fabric as the movement comes closer and closer, but Jongdae’s fingers clutching his shoulder, digging in so hard it hurts, stops him. It’s not only a reprimanding touch, no. There is something possessive about it too, as if he needs to make sure Baekhyun stays close to him, by his side, where he can control him, watch over him as the sea of bodies parts and shifts around them. Someone brushes up against him as the crowd moves to one side of the room, like the ocean moves with a storm.  He’s confused, searches for Jongdae’s eyes, whose face is suddenly hard and tense, his lips pressed together into a thin, white line as his gaze flickers back and forth over the heads of masters and apprentices, over and over again. And suddenly it’s not the movement of the crowd, but one up on the pulpit, the shadows beyond the beam of light that falls through the ceiling swirling and parting to reveal Minseok, who steps forward so easily and yet with so much power and a single glance is enough to make the bodies part again, expose a woman - clad in black and red from head to toe.  Her hair is braided away from her face, strands falling in soft rivulets down her back and over her shoulders as she lifts her head to look up at the god, who takes a single step forward in her direction. 

It’s a small step, no big gesture, but it makes Jongdae breathe in sharply through his nose, his hold on Baekhyun’s shoulder tightening even more. He doesn’t let go even when Baekhyun emits a sound of protest, trying to brush his fingers off. Instead, he holds on tighter and tighter, fingernails digging into the still sensitive skin where Jongdae littered bites across his neck.   
  
“You’re hurting me.”, Baekhyun whispers hotly, but falls silent the moment their eyes meet. There is something utterly commanding in the way Jongdae looks at him right now, towers so high above him even though Baekhyun has just that bit of height on him.   
“Keep your mouth closed.”, Jongdae tells him in a breath, turning back to watch as the woman all but flies up the stairs leading to the pulpit and grasps Minseok by the back of his neck, as he does the same to her. The leather of her vambraces strikes a chord inside of him - and just as she mutters “my brother” and Minseok answers “my sister” just as silent, Baekhyun hears himself say: “Joohyun.”

Time doesn’t flow properly, then. 

His thoughts are racing, his heart beating so loud, he can’t hear the silent words exchanged on the recess, even though he’s standing just below in between the other masters, Jongdae’s hand still holding him still even while he tries to move forward - towards Joohyun. If she’s here, no, if she’s not looking over Junmyeon, then who is? Where is he, if not in her care, if not under her surveillance.   
She promised, just as Baekhyun was about to walk into the desert, to watch over his one and only friend, her lover. She promised to him to not leave him alone and even though he believed her… she is here now. Without Junmyeon.   
There is blood on her neck, on her sweat glistening skin that seems to be tinted the faintest hue of green. She’s sick, Baekhyun realizes over the thundering of his blood inside his ears.   
“Children of the creed.”, Minseok suddenly says, his forehead still resting against Joohyun’s, her fingers tangling in his hair as she slowly, oh so terribly slowly, opens her black eyes. “Our sister has returned to relay a message to you.”  
As if it’s a command Baekhyun doesn’t understand, Joohyun steps away from the god before her, turns to the waiting mass of masters and students, her voice nothing more than a breeze brushing through the twigs and branches of leafless trees.   
“I came home to you, my brothers and sisters, to deliver a message from the order of the sun.”, she says and her voice is firm, although Baekhyun can see the way her fingers shake, the way she swallows as if each word brings her more pain any of them could ever fathom. “That from this day forth, all who are found to be conspiring with the dead gods, shall be burnt at the stake as an example of what will happen to any assassin that is caught on the premises of their lands. No matter if man, child or woman, the sons of the sun will show no mercy to anybody, who betrays the holy laws of the light. Not even one of their own.”

Someone sobs, so loud and wet, Baekhyun thinks he feels shame racing through him for the sound. 

It’s not more than a heartbeat, before he realizes the sound came from his throat, his knees wobbling as he clutches at Jongdae’s arm, who tries to hold him up with a confused noise in the back of his throat, his body pressing warm and solid into Baekhyun’s side. But he feels cold, so terribly,  _ terribly _ cold as Joohyun looks down at him, her features breaking as they twist into grief and Baekhyun knows it’s true. She left Junmyeon to die. 

 

“That only means we can no longer send our people to the city state of the order.”

“You can not be serious, Hangeng.”

“We don’t need the city state. We control the Delta and the power we have there-”

“Since when does the brotherhood have power over the Delta. Since when should we care for power? This doesn’t make sense! If we let the order do-”

“As your creed master, I will command you to stay away from the city state!”, Hangeng cuts through the voices loudly, his words thundering through the room, thrown back as an echo so loud, Baekhyun wants to slap his hands over his ears. He doesn’t want to hear it anymore.  He can’t take it.  Next to him, Jongdae stands like a statue, hands balled and shoulders shaking - with rage, with something he holds in with the way his lips are pressed together so tightly, the way the muscles in his jaw work back and forth as if he’s grinding his teeth. Baekhyun doesn’t know. He can’t think.  
  
“We can not afford to lose members of the brotherhood or endanger innocent lives.”, Hangeng reasons and his voice is soft, almost as if he’s talking to a wild, frightened animal.  
And the brotherhood might as well be one, what with the way they shift and hiss, thoughtless as if they are all in a state of panic. And yet, Baekhyun thinks while his eyes find Joohyun’s trembling, small body next to where Minseok sits on his throne. Yet they don’t understand how easily they could overthrow the empire the order built for themselves. 

“The life of one healer is not important enough to imperil any of us.”, Hangeng finally says and someone in the back of the room answers him loudly: “But this healer saved one of us. He endangered his own life to-”

“He”, Hangeng cuts in and Baekhyun sees Joohyun move, her hand jerking as if she wants to reach out and grab Hangeng by the neck in anger. “Rescued not one of  _ us, _ but a member of the order and a his friend. He did not do it for the brotherhood. Would you rather die, burnt at the stake because the order takes measures against us, after all this time? It was never our duty to fight them. It is our duty to grow stronger in the darkness, smooth the way for the gods to find their homes in our very souls.”  
There are murmurs breaking out between the masters gathered in the hall, their bodies shifting from one side to the other and Baekhyun can feel Jongdae tense next to him, fists balling by his sides. 

It’s weird, to look at Joohyun like this, tears shining in her dark, dark eyes. She’s stronger than most of them, he thinks. He’s seen her pull darkness through the light, control shadows to conceal herself and yet she didn’t rescue Junmyeon. She left him - left him to bring home the cruel message that seems to split the brotherhood in two.   
“That’s wrong.”, Baekhyun suddenly whispers and even though his words are nearly inaudible, Minseok’s head whips towards him, eyes black and wide. “It’s wrong.”  
“What did you say, soldier?”, Hangeng snaps and takes a step forward into the space between the masters who are gathered in front of the god’s throne. Some of them move back, others just turn to look at where Baekhyun is standing by Jongdae’s side, head lowered and fingers clenching in the fabric of his robes.   
“I think I didn’t hear you right.”, Hangeng adds then and Baekhyun feels Jongdae step closer, brushing up against his arm. It’s a silent warning, he knows. To keep his mouth shut - as if Jongdae knows what he’s about to say, can feel the desperation and anger simmer inside of Baekhyun.   
“I said.”, Baekhyun starts to repeat and finally lifts his head to meet Hangeng’s gaze, chin lifted in defiance. “It’s wrong what you just said. The creed was given to us by the dead gods for us to protect the innocent, for us to guide the world onto the right path. The purpose of us being here, is not to become immortal. You as the creed master should know that!”  
The voices die out, there is no sound inside the cupola, no movement. Just Baekhyun’s own, labored breathing, just Hangeng’s angry scoff. “You studied the creed for a mere couple of moons, soldier. And now you want to lecture us? How impudent of you to think your rank is high enough to step forward and call me a liar.”  
“I never said you are a liar.”, Baekhyun corrects him, stepping away from Jongdae’s side, who he feels reaching out for him, holding him back. He brushes off the hand on his upper arm, pushes past Seungwan and Han, who stand just in front of him, almost as if they are shielding him from Hangeng’s furious gaze - or maybe even Minseok, whose face grows darker and darker by the second.   
“Stand up to those with power, so they might not crush the lesser man.”, he recites with each step he takes forward and he feels as if the ground underneath his feet is shaking, an angry rumbling having the walls crack above his head, dust trickling down onto his head from above. “Take no innocent life, but guide those who have their eyes closed towards the path of the gods. You shall be rewarded with a place by the gods sides, one of their rank, one of their kind.”  
“I am well aware of the creed, member of the order.”, Hangeng spits and Baekhyun takes yet another step, knowing that all eyes are on him now. “I have those words tattooed on my body. I am the preserver of the creed, until my very last dying breath. And who are you? Nobody.”

“I am as much a member if the brotherhood as any of you.” He pauses, finds Jongin in the middle of the crowd, Yixing leaned over him to whisper into his ear. It has his skin crawling, the way the blind prophet looks at him, his mouth nothing but a grim, disgusted line. “I earned my place.”  
“So?”, Hangeng asks him harshly and the rumbling grows louder. “You are no one to the dead gods we worship. No one to the brotherhood. You might have earned your place -”  
“You are cowards, hiding in the desert.”, Baekhyun cuts him off and watches chaos unfold around him. Several masters are yelling in protest, the masses move like a tidal wave around him. And yet, he feels no fear. Even with Minseok’s murderous gaze on him, with Jongin balling his fists atop his thighs. Because, as strange as it is, he knows Jongdae is watching him too, pushing forward just enough to stand between Seungwan and Han, eyes never leaving Baekhyun.   
“You hide behind a creed none of you seem to understand anymore! Is the order not your sworn enemy? Did you not send Jongdae, one of your own valued masters, to kill my master Teuk? Did you not kill the merchant Zhoumi because the order was turning a blind eye to his machinations?”  
The roaring grows louder around him, several masters cursing so loudly, their voices mix together into a humming that reminds him of an angry bee hive, clawing at the courage that grows less and less with each heartbeat passing.   
“The order of the sun declared war against your people.”, he continues then, turning so he can face Minseok, whose lip curls upwards into a wordless grimace, like a wolf baring its fangs. “Their hatred for the brotherhood has them executing their own people! Did you all not hear what Joohyun said? They are about to wage war against innocent people, what will stop them from marching against the Delta, just to be rid of you? What will stop them from marching against the temple, if they get the chance? Are you going to hide in here, cower in front of an enemy that you could easily destroy? Are you going to be like Zhoumi, greedy for your own lives and immortality so you forget the true creed and the true purpose of why we all are here, part of the brotherhood? You are all cowards that-”  
Hangeng’s hand hits him across the face so hard, he hears the joints in his neck crack in protest as his head flies to the side, heat blooming across his cheekbone. The roll of thunder underneath his feat grows louder, has his knees shaking by now.  A hand curls into his collar, yanks him up and then pushes him away, Hangeng’s angry face appearing in front of him as the creed master gives him an angry shove, making him stumble.  
  
“How dare you insult the people who let you live out of nothing but mercy and pity, little soldier?”, the man hisses and lunges after him, grabbing him by the neck and throwing him to the side. Baekhyun teeters, barely manages to stand his ground as he turns and answers: “One of you.”  
“You are not one of us!”, Hangeng thunders out and Baekhyun flinches away from it as the other man lifts a hand and punches him on the nose. There is blood on his tongue, stars dancing across his vision. “You are a member of the brotherhood, yes, but no master! You have no power here! You might have seduced your way into Jongdae’s bed, blinded him, but you have no power over us!”  
“Are you scared of the order?”, Baekhyun bites out and sees Hangeng lift his fist again. This time, he’s braced for it, but the moment he raises his own hands to defend himself, the ground shakes one final, lethal time. 

“Enough!”

The mosaic above their heads cracks with a snap so loud, the masters in the hall duck their heads in shock, a shocked scream rippling through the masses as all their gazes stray upwards, to the golden inlay of the fist of them all, slowly withering away with grains of black, black iron sand.  Minseok stands, hands balled and face so twisted in rage, there is none of the beauty left in it.  There are shadows crawling beneath his skin, his hair moving with every breath he takes. 

“Look what you did.”, Hangeng seethes, fist still raised. “Pay the price for angering-”

“I said  _ enough!”,  _ Minseok yells just as Baekhyun lunges forward, kicking Hangeng in the upper thigh, making him stumble backwards. There is a hand, suddenly, grabbing him by the back of his neck like a puppy, throwing him to the ground as if he’s nothing but a piece of fabric and he screams in shock, skittering across the marble floor until his back hits Sehun’s shins, who looks down at him with wide, frightened eyes.   
“You!”, Minseok barks and points a finger at Baekhyun, who slowly pushes himself back onto his feet, feeling for the bruises on his neck. “Stay down. I will break your legs if you so much as move a single muscle.”  
Hangeng starts to speak, only for Minseok to turn on him, this time. His knuckles strike so hard across the creed masters cheek, it breaks open in a sudden splash of red flesh, the yip Hangeng emits nothing but a pained, agonized sound. 

“Keep your mouth shut.”, Minseok orders him and even though his voice isn’t loud, it is echoing all around them, as if spoken by a thousand men.   
Baekhyun moves, with the impact of it and in the blink of an eye, Minseok has his hand around his throat, pulling him up so high, his feet leave the ground.   
“You arrogant splinter in my flesh.”, Minseok whispers hotly, squeezing so tightly, Baekhyun wheezes for air, clawing mindlessly at Minseok’s fingers wrapped so tightly around his neck.   
“Jongdae no!”, Baekhyun hears Seungwan scream and then there he is, his fingers grasping Minseok's arm so tightly, his knuckles are turning white.   
“Let him go.”, Jongdae commands and Minseok answers his eyes with an angry stare, but his fingers slowly fall away from Baekhyun’s throat, who sucks in a desperate breath just the moment Jongdae’s arms wrap around him.   
“You heard him!”, Minseok suddenly says loudly. “Calling you all cowards. Do you want to correct him? What do you expect us to do, hm? Tell me, Baekhyun.”  
The sudden silence that answers him has the god turning on his heel, looking out across the sea of faces surrounding them, that slowly parts as Yixing rolls Jongin’s chair toward the front, the prophet’s face nothing but a mask of rage and disgust.   
“Fight each other.”, Jongin starts loudly and Minseok takes a step back, as if the other man reached out and slapped him. “And the brotherhood will break apart. Attack a member of the brotherhood and you shall be punished. All of you broke the sacred rules today.”  
“Jongin-”, Jongdae begins and Jongin lifts a hand, shutting him up with a single gesture. 

“I will not send my brothers and sisters to save your friend, Baekhyun.”, the prophet continues as if he never got interrupted. “I heard your words, brother. I heard your intent and I will have to think about what you told us. But if you truly want to go and save this healer who you owe your life to, then you will have to go alone. I will not be responsible for the death of any of my masters of apprentices. We are not made to rescue anyone. We serve in the darkness, not in the light.”

“I will go.”, Baekhyun tells him steadily, massaging his sore, burning throat. “If I have to go alone, then be it. I will not let Junmyeon die just because he saved me.”  
“He won’t go anywhere without me.”, Jongdae decides so loudly next to him, Jongin instinctively turns his head to look at him, even though his eyes are long gone. “You will have to chain me up, if you want me to stay behind.” 

Jongin smiles. 

And perhaps it’s the most unsettling thing Baekhyun has ever seen in his entire life.   
“I expected no less from you.”, the prophet mutters then and sighs so deeply, his shoulders sag, Yixing’s hand heavy in the back of his neck, rubbing soothing circles into his flesh.   
“But I will not grant you reinforcements, Jongdae. It’s you two against them. And you will die. You know that. You know what the gods foretold you. Your end will come by the hands of a son of the sun.”  
“I don’t care.”, Jongdae tells him and straightens his shoulders, pulls Baekhyun into his side so possessively, it has his insides curling with several kinds of want and warmth. “I follow the true creed, Jongin. You know that.”  
His words ring across the masters, across the god standing by their side, whose eyes are no longer on them. He’s looking to somewhere off the right and Baekhyun shudders upon the look on his features. It’s realization, hot and written so clearly across Minseok’s face it has Baekhyun’s breath hitching in his throat. And suddenly he thinks that none of this was ever about them. ever about Junmyeon or Joohyun’s warning.   
“I will go too.”; Seungwan suddenly chimes in and Jongdae nearly drops him. But as he opens her mouth, she steps forward already, her head held up so high, it leaves no room for discussion.   
“Don’t.”, Han says by her side and she rolls her eyes.   
“You can come along, if you want to protect me like you promised to Chanyeol.”, she grins at him and it’s so wicked, Baekhyun feels faint.   
“I will not allow this!”, Hangeng says from the side and Minseok snarls so loudly, the hall seems to tremble under the force of his voice. Hangeng does, too.   
“Go then.”, the god scoffs and turns away, walking over to where Joohyun is taking slow, hesitant steps towards the small group that forms around Jongdae and Baekhyun. He grabs her by the arm, hauling her back, hissing something into her ear that has her going lax in his hold, following him out of the room with her head low and her lip between her teeth, biting down so hard there is a trickle of blood running down her chin. 

“Every life lost.”, Jongin whispers as Yixing turns his chair around to leave. “Will be on you, Baekhyun.”


	11. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DOUBLE UPDATE please read chapter nine before you read this one <3  
> This chapter has character death in it, once again. Stay tuned for more moments that feel like you're watching GoT (according to my beta)

Baekhyun is hot on his heels - so close to him Jongdae almost thinks someone tied them together by an invisible string around their bodies. He’s so close, Jongdae can feel him against his back, the way he’s trying to reach out to him, stop him from storming down one of the long, dark corridors of the temple. He doesn’t want to stop. He doesn’t want to talk, doesn’t even want to look at Baekhyun right now. All those minutes in the hall of the masters, the fear that clawed at his insides, his own body moving forward on its own without Jongdae even noticing until he had Minseok’s eyes on him - it’s too much. It reminds him too much of the way he felt the need to stay close to Taeyeon, all those years ago. How he was never able to let her go without his gaze following her whenever they were outside the temple. He was afraid of losing her, back when he was young and stupid and blind in his affection for her. Back when he mistook her advances on him as reciprocated feelings. 

“Jongdae!”, Baekhyun demands behind him again, brushing through the curtain of beads in front of his doorward almost at the same time as he does, finally grabbing his shoulder. “Will you please talk to me! Are you angry at me?”  
“Angry?!”, Jongdae repeats and hears his own voice snap, whirling around to face Baekhyun, staring him down until the other man lets him go and takes a step back, bottom lip between his lips. “I’m not angry at you Baekhyun. I am  _ not  _ angry at you. But if you dare touch me again, I swear by the dead gods, I will rip out your throat.”  
“What did I even  _ do?!”,  _ Baekhyun shoots right back and Jongdae growls, giving his shoulder a hard, bruising shove. “Is that even a real question?”  
“Yes.”, Baekhyun answers him, jaw set and eyes burning. They are almost entirely black by now and Jongdae misses the blue so terribly dearly, it makes his chest ache. “Yes, it is a question, Jongdae.”  
He breathes in then, grabbing Baekhyun by the shoulders to push him backwards, up against the wall as he shakes him with every word that tumbles off his lips as if he lost control over his mind, over his body, over the things he chooses to say and those he chooses not to.   
“You insulted the brotherhood surrounded by masters who don’t trust you, you idiot! You disobeyed Minseok! Of all people! He could snap his fingers and you’d cease to exist! Do you even understand that, Baekhyun? Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? How idiotically stupid? Do you have a deathwish?!”

“I’m not afraid to die, Jongdae.”, Baekhyun answers him so softly, it’s barely audible over the rattling of his teeth as Jongdae shakes him again, shoves him back against the wall so hard, he hits his head.   
“You should be!”, Jongdae all but yells into his face, making Baekhyun flinch and duck his head, pressing himself as flat against the wall as he can. “Because I am!”  
“You’re so close to immortality, how could you be af-”  
“I’m not afraid of my own death.”, Jongdae grits out and lets him go, takes a step back to run a hand down his face, through his hair as he turns his back towards the other man. “I’m not afraid of- I died a thousand times already, Baekhyun. Death is not my enemy. It’s not what- scares me.”  
For a moment, there is nothing but silence, the darkness of his closed eyes and the sweat gathering underneath his palm where it lies across his eyes, shielding them from his own, stupid confession.   
Then, there is movement, quiet and hesitant, Baekhyun’s fingers running through the hair in the back of his neck, gentle fingers gripping his nape as a warm body presses into his side.   
“Then what, Jongdae?”, he hears Baekhyun whisper, so close to his ear his breath tickles across the side of Jongdae’s face, who presses out between his teeth: “You know what.”

“Yes, but… maybe I need to hear you say it.”

“What for, Baekhyun? What good will it be if I say it out loud now?”, he asks, exasperated. And yet, Baekhyun’s fingers are gentle on his face, across his cheek when he reaches out to cup his jaw, lips pressing into the corner of his mouth, words whispered against his skin when Baekhyun replies:  “Nothing, Jongdae. You said it is what it is. I say, not everything has to have a purpose.”  
“Since when are you so wise?”, Jongdae whispers and feels Baekhyun laugh next to him.   
“Since you taught me how to listen instead of talk. And your silence is sometimes even louder than my words.”, comes the soft, feather-light shrug and Jongdae catches himself laughing, eyes opening to meet Baekhyun’s, who blinks at him with something written across his face Jongdae has never seen on his features before. It’s a sort of acceptance, a knowledge that is slowly slipping into place while some pieces of the puzzle are still missing. And for a second he thinks that he would burn this knowledge, if only he could. If only he could blind Baekhyun to the thinks going on around them - around him. Hide himself as he always does, always did ever since that fateful night in the desert. 

“I’m afraid you’re not taking this serious, Baekhyun.”, he breathes out and watches Baekhyun’s face twitch, grimacing for a second before he gives back: “Is that all?”

“You know exactly what I’m trying to say. Stop.”

Baekhyun’s laughter is perhaps the most infuriating thing he’s ever heard, but that doesn’t stop him from joining in, letting Baekhyun push him against his dresser before he kisses him, hard and unforgiving.   
“We ride at dawn, right?”, Baekhyun whispers against his mouth then and Jongdae fits his hand over his jaw, sliding up into his hair to draw him back in, shaking his head. “Two days, Baekhyun. We ride tonight, or else you will be too late to save that healer.”  
When Baekhyun pulls away, their bodies only touching at the waist, his hands around Jongdae’s neck, there are a thousand things to be said. Neither of them speaks - but perhaps it’s not necessary with the way Baekhyun looks at him, the words they can not say written across his face as clear as the light of dawn.  
  
  
The armor around his chest feels too tight, constricting where he wore nothing but flowing linen clothing, or sometimes even nothing but pants and a sash. He feels cages with the heavy leather collar around his shoulders like he’s seen Jongdae wear several times during training, the shoulders padded with soft fur where they press across the fabric of his tunic. His chestplate is heavy, falling down his chest and stomach, held together by broad straps of leather and silver buckles. shaped like tiny raven skulls. They remind him of the needle Joohyun gave to him the night she came to get him and even though he’s never seen any other assassin wear the symbols of crows or ravens, he touches one of them, oddly fond of the way his skin looks pale compared to the silver metal. Even the straps holding his vambraces closed around his arms are buckled with those little skulls, so small he can barely make out the details on the metal.   
“It suits you.”, Seungwan says from where she’s checking her horses saddle straps, pulling them a little tighter. He doesn’t know what he expected, but seeing her in something else than a long, flowing robe that leaves her shoulders bare and a glimpse of her cleavage winking through the sheer fabric - it makes his throat go dry with the realization that she is, after all, a warrior. Her eyes are so dark even in the light of the setting sun, Baekhyun wonders how long it will take for her to reach godhood.   
  
“I’ve never seen any of you wearing this kind of armor.”, he confesses after a short moment, letting his eyes travel over her wide-cut pants, the white sash around her middle that matches the hood lying around her neck.   
Never before did he understand that he’s surrounded by grim warriors as he is aware of it right now.   
“Those”, Seungwan tells him with a light, carefree smile. “Are a gift from the brotherhood the moment you are welcomed into the ranks of the masters.”   
She runs a hand down her own armor, significantly sturdier around the middle than Baekhyun’s. 

“They are handmade for each master, long before they aspire from apprenticeship to our ranks, you see? Made with the knowledge of each weakness and each strength.”  
Baekhyun looks down at his armor then, running his gloved fingers across the leather, across every strap of leather and studded edge, mouth shaping a soft sigh before he looks back up at Seungwan again, a question lingering on his tongue that she already answers the moment their eyes meet.  
“Jongin had this made for you. It was Minseok who picked the colors.”   
She shrugs at his confused face, her eyes traveling back to the entrance of the temple, shrouded in darkness already, the shadows of the dunes piled up high around the building opening up like the mouth of a monster.   
“Some of us never doubted your worth.”, she suddenly says and his horse shifts underneath him, prancing from one side to the other while she swings herself up into the saddle too, reaching out to touch the small skulls lining his collar. “I trusted my  _ haldae  _ and I was not mistaken to do so.”  
  
“ _ Haldae?”,  _ Baekhyun echoes and Seungwan lifts an eyebrow, only smiles with just the corners of her lips pulled up before she whispers: “We don’t doubt you, Baekhyun. Have faith. He does.”  
The sun is setting slowly and yet it feels as if the darkness falling across the desert eats them alive, every sound loud and clear to his ears, even Seungwan’s soft breaths, the huffing of their horses and the scrabble of hooves across the cobblestones leading up the temple.  It’s Han who joins them first, shooting Baekhyun an annoyed look before he climbs into the saddle, tugging on Seungwan’s sleeve when she snickers and leans over to kiss his cheek. 

“He’ll thank you when he returns.”

“I hate you both and you know that.”, Han scoffs, but Seungwan’s laughter overshadows the sound.   
And it even conceals the sound of Tao closing up to them, already perched on the back of his black mare, leading a second horse by the reigns.   
“Tardy.”, Han quips and twists in the saddle to look back towards the temple gates, steering his horse to the side so he is facing the building.   
“It takes a while to put that on.”, Seungwan waves her hand at him, just as they spot Jongdae coming out of the temple, flanked by Minseok and Yixing, who both seem to be talking at the same time.    
But Baekhyun doesn’t care for once, why the assassin is once again accompanied by the god, ignores the twisting of his guts as he sees the way Minseok touches Jongdae’s shoulder just before he pulls the other man’s hood up over his black hair. In the orange, fiery light of the sinking sun, Jongdae looks blurry, the black of his clothes swimming together with the shadows by the gate, into the black smoke that seems to be curling around Minseok’s legs.   
But there is a splash of blue, brighter than Baekhyun has ever seen on Jongdae, wrapped around his middle and falling across one of his legs as the sash tapers out into a black-dyed, silver threaded tip.   
The color runs all the way up across his chest, wrapped around his neck as a scarf, already pulled up around his chin and concealing the lower half of his face.   
There is no leather on him, no metal. Just drapes of fabric and silver belts, tassels of white hanging off the bag by his hip, swinging with each step the man takes towards them, not once looking back even though both Minseok and Yixing are watching him leave, slowly disappearing into the darkness as the shadows grow longer. The sand seems to take them both and yet Baekhyun can’t look away. 

Jongdae’s thighs are clad in tight leather, the long robe he’s wearing falling just to the length of his knees, moving like a cloak around him when he wordlessly closes up to them and swings himself upwards, deadlier than Baekhyun has ever seen him do.  The blue is the same as his eyes used to be, Baekhyun realizes just as their gazes meet and Jongdae smiles, wicked and familiar, his eyes swirling with the fire of the god living inside of him.  
He’s never looked more dangerous, more inhuman than he does right now, clad in the colors of Baekhyun’s past and his future all at once.   
“Is it only us?”, Tao asks silently while Jongdae nudges his horse with his heels, steering it towards Baekhyun, shooting his brother a lazy look as he passes. “Or is Yixing coming with us?”  
“Yixing chose a different path.”, Jongdae answers simply, still smiling at Baekhyun with this crooked smile of his. And yet, where normally one single glance his direction is enough for his thundering heart to calm down, he hears himself whisper: “Five of us won’t be enough.”  
“One of us is enough to save a brother.”, Seungwan answers him instead of Jongdae, pulling her scarf up over her face. “Five of us are enough to wipe out an entire city.”  
In a new moons time, Joohyun said. Fire and rage for those, who conspire with the brotherhood against the holy order’s laws. The moon rising slowly above the desert is already a pale, thin line. And Baekhyun can’t help but to pray to whatever god is listening to him, that he won’t be too late. 

He has a debt to pay. 

And when he turns back towards the temple, watching it shrink with the movements of his horse, he thinks he sees Joohyun standing on one of the pillars of the garden, watching them as they ride.   
Something tells him he won’t be returning to the brotherhood as he did before. 

 

“It was a trap.”

The candle between them on the table flickers, throws a harsh, black line across the papers spread out underneath the lazy, wandering fingers brushing over them.   
“I know.”  
“And it is a trap now, too.”  
“I am aware of that. I am able to read.”  
“Then why did you let them go?”  
The flame hisses, shifts with a breeze as dark raven feathers move where they sit high on a collar.   
Silent laughter in the darkness beyond the candle, fingers curling atop of paper, nearly ripping it.   
“Every drop of godly blood will be wiped out, my sister. I let them go because I had to. Fate will move, no matter what we do.”  
“I should be with them.”  
“So I can lose the god that slumbers inside of you, too? I don’t think so.”  
“I owe him my life. He saved me. And I saved him. You can not expect me to-”  
The moment the candle flickers again, it dies. The papers rustle with movement, the sound of a silent laugh.   
“Would you expect me to let you go so you can foolishly throw yourself into a sword? No, I don’t think so. I need you with me. You’ve gathered enough out there. The purge will need your sword.”

 

The taste of salt on his tongue is as familiar as the streets he walks - the colorful wooden blinds, the smell of bubbling oil and spices, fruit rotting in the gutters, water in the sewers underneath his feet. Even the sun seems familiar here, so much gentler with the breeze of the ocean whispering through the alleys, around corners of low buildings, rustling through lines of fabric spanned across the market. He once belonged here - to this city so full of life and vibrant colors, to the glittering blue of the ocean that peeks out between the winding towers of the palace and the sanctum, hinting at the masts of boats and their white, white sails. And yet this feeling of belonging, of familiarity, doesn’t come with a feeling of home. It comes with a deep throbbing dread that pulses through the scars across his hands, on his back, his chest. Each beat of his heart reminds him that it could have stopped beating altogether, had he not left.   
But all the streets are empty, bells ringing in the distance and Baekhyun watches with bile rising in his throat, as a pillar of smoke wafts up from the courtyard of the sanctum, a thousand voices screaming out in agony and for forgiveness. Their gods have forsaken them, ask for blood to wash away sins no one committed but the order - no one but Baekhyun himself.   
The streets are in an uproar, echoing with screams of terror, the voices of begging mothers so loud Baekhyun wants to slap his hands over his ears and close his eyes, turn away from the horrors he’s seeing - knows happened by the sight of the oily, steadily rising smoke that curls around the towers of the sanctum. He’s too late. He failed Junmyeon. 

This city used to be his safe haven, his home - and now he barely recognizes it. Where there used to be buzzing life on the streets, there is nothing but dust and silence left, broken only by the noise in front of the sanctum. Their symbol of hope, once. Now turned into a grim image of death before his very eyes. Mothers with abandoned hopes, he thinks while he feels acid flood his mouth and he turns, retches around a dry heave. The dreams of his own mother shattered before him, so long ago it feels like nothing but a grave reminder - a reminder of a truth he already knew but never fully understood. He gags again, bends over to brace his weight against his knees, tries to blend out the screams of pain echoing through the city, the uproar of a crowd that seems to be screaming for death and mercy at the same time.   
  
“Take a good look at that.”, Han whispers to him from where he is squatting in the shadow of a pergola, forearms resting on his knees and fingers lazily playing with the tip of an arrow he pulled from his quiver.   
“This is what you built, child of light.”  
“I am not the one burning people alive!”, Baekhyun hisses through clenched teeth, letting his forehead lean against the side of the pergola, breathing in through his nose to steady himself.   
“No.”, Han agrees before pushing himself up and out of the shadow, stepping towards Jongdae and Seungwan, who seem to be in a deep, whispering conversation.   
“But this is what you followed your life until now. And repeating the words of the creed won’t make you our brother.”  
The words sting - they sting even harder when Jongdae looks up at him, as if he heard their exchange, his dark eyes glittering like obsidian stones in the light of the sun.   
Once the heat of the sun meant life to him, meant healing. He prayed to the healing mother every night, turned his face into the light in wonder, in yearning for her salvation.  
Now it’s nothing but unforgiving, harsh on his skin and making his eyes burn. Where he was once afraid of the darkness and what it means to the order, now it seems healing.   
“It’s a spectacle.”, Tao says as he swings himself back up onto the roof, dabbing at the sweat lining his brow while he pulls off his hood and scarf, running a hand through his short, dark hair.   
“Tell me.”, Jongdae commands silently, turning towards the rising smoke beyond the market. Tao draws in a deep breath, shoots a look over to where Baekhyun is standing, before he leans closer to the other assassin, muttering:   
“They are burning people like twigs, Jongdae. There are seven left for- for today. Heavily guarded.”

Jongdae nods along, arms still crossed and eyes never leaving the sanctum - so close they can make out the fine intricate details of the mosaics around the every window, the golden window frames and marble sills. Baekhyun had dreamed of living up there, in the towers of the inner haven, one of the sacred paladins.  Paladins that are burning innocent people on the street, now. 

“What about the healer?”, Seungwan asks softly and Baekhyun feels his heart stutter in his chest. 

Tao hesitates, licks over his lips and then answers, slowly: “I don’t know.”

“Alright.”, Jongdae nods then, pausing for a second while he lets his eyes travel over the city’s roofs, over the vacant alleys and streets underneath. “We will follow the plan.”  
“Junmyeon is dead.”, Baekhyun hears himself say and he doesn’t even recognize his own voice anymore. He sounds hard, defeated, tired from two nights of little sleep in the saddle. “There is no-”  
“If you want to give up, then give up.”, Jongdae interrupts him harshly and Baekhyun bites his tongue, confusion bubbling up inside of him when he feels Seungwan’s eyes on him, heavy and hard.   
  
“I’m not giving-”

“The death of one man doesn’t change  _ anything!”,  _ Jongdae cuts in again, whipping around to face him. It  takes him two long strides across the roof two of his fingers jabbing hard into Baekhyun’s chest. “None of us came here to save your friend, Baekhyun. We are assassin’s. We don’t rescue a single man who means nothing to us. All of us have their own reason for coming here and if you want to turn now and leave, then go. I won’t stop you. We won’t.”  
“Jongdae, please, I-”  
“No, Baekhyun!”, Jongdae snaps, pushing against his chest again. “We are assassin’s. We are born through death, created for the sake of the world. Not to risk our lives and try cater to your selfish wishes. You might have turned the creed around on us, but none of us is here now for any other reason but the blood of the order.”  
A final push, his back hitting the pergola behind him and their eyes lock - so close to where they were staring each other over the dying form of master Teuk. But now it feels different. There is no question in Jongdae’s eyes, no confusion or this hint of affection Baekhyun saw developing over the past months. There is nothing gentle in Jongdae’s gaze now, only an unforgiving challenge. 

“Leave.”, Jongdae tells him. “Or fight with us. Prove your worth to me, this time. Minseok isn’t here, no need to impress anybody anymore. But me, Baekhyun.”  
The assassin turns away then, signaling for the others to follow him while he repeats their plan to them in a hushed, urgent voice. They nod, Seungwan fixing the straps of her quiver where it hangs by her hip before she runs towards the edge of the roof, swinging herself around into a graceful jump that catapults her across the alley beneath.   
“Jongdae.”, Baekhyun says, frozen in place while Jongdae walks backwards, not facing him while he readies himself for the jump. “Why did you come along?”  
“You don’t know?”, the man asks him, head turned just enough to look at him over his shoulder, body flexing in preparation of the sprint. “Do you really have to ask me that question?”

“Why, Jongdae?”, Baekhyun stresses, pushes himself off of the pergola. 

“Because of you.”, Jongdae answers with a shrug so nonchalant, Baekhyun almost forgets they are standing on a rooftop, the smell of burning flesh bitter on their tongues.   
It feels like the night so terribly long ago, in front of the gates, blood on Baekhyun’s mind and Jongdae’s hand. It feels like the goodbye they never said, but should have. He surges forward, hands curling into the collar of Jongdae’s armor as he kisses him, as hard as he can, until he tastes copper on his tongue. And a part of him whispers into his ear what could have been, if only he kissed Jongdae back then, in the safehouse, when they had to part.   
For once Jongdae doesn’t smile after they part, only reaches out to pull his hood over his head, fixing the red scarf across the lower half of Baekhyun’s face with tender, careful fingers.   
“The world needs the evil in the darkness, little soldier.”, he whispers, the blue of his own robes reflecting in his eyes. “You’ll understand, why we all turn into demons.”  
  
  
The crowd around him feels like stone, tense with the fear and fanatic rage that pulses through them with every word spoken to them from the makeshift stage constructed in front of the sanctum - their haven, their church, their place of forgiveness. They shift with every howl of pain from the stakes, the sizzling of flesh seeming to spur them on in their lust for blood and Jongdae feels himself smirking in the shadow of his hood.  
They call him a murderer, a monster. Now they all call for more death than this city has ever seen at the hands of an assassin. They’re like animals, fighting over the last bit of meat on a carcass, yelling insults that drone out even the shrill begging of the people pleading for the lives of those who are already burning. He knows they see him. 

He feels their eyes following him, the press of gazes against the back of his neck as he walks into the crowd, feels it part and envelope him - darkness in their middle, born from their own hearts. 

Sanctum guards on the roofs, on the towers. 

There are so many, the stage is surrounded by a sea of white, their robes flickering with the orange of the flame, smeared with the dirt of death and destruction. It’s on their hands, red and black, ashes and blood. And the people of this city are as monstrous as the order is, drooling for more and more. Justice, where there is only crime. But he feels cut loose, off his leash as he pushes forward, deeper into the throng of salivating, shouting people - a wolf amongst sheep. And they know.  
“Behold!”, the man on the stage suddenly interrupts his own speech - reign of fire, of rightful law given to them by the gods, all demons wiped clean from the streets of their holy, blessed city.   
“The animal we lured, bit the hook to be dragged into the sunlight! Assassin.”  
Jongdae smiles when the people around him gasp, scrambling away from where the man’s arm is pointed at, clad in nothing but brilliant white and glittering gold. An elder, Jongdae knows. He knows by the almost-white of the man’s hair, the pale blue of his eyes that seems to shine even brighter as he turns to look at Jongdae with a fatherly smile, his hands folding in front of his lap. 

“We awaited your arrival, devil. Are you here to repent for your sins? We will let these people go, if you wash away their wrongdoings with your blood.”

“No.”, Jongdae answers him with a wave of his hand, taking another step forward until he pushes out into the space between the bystanders and the stage. The crackling of the stakes is the only thing audible for a while, even his steps are silent across the dusty, sand rough ground. “None of that. I am here for your head, paladin.”  
“What a foolish undertaking.”, the man laughs, hiding his mouth behind the back of his hand before he flicks his wrist, the sanctum guards surrounding their stage moving as one, drawing their swords, turning towards him as one being. It would be impressive, were it not so predictable.   
“One of you, alone.”, the paladin starts slowly, walking from one end of the platform to the other with slow, measured steps. “Challenging us in the heart of our own kingdom. The brotherhood is truly degenerated with their arrogance. Surrender, now. And your head will be cut off clean, devil.”  
“You truly misunderstood.”, Jongdae says just as he raises his hand, balling his fist. “I am not a devil. I am a god amongst you.”  
The first arrow hits with a thud, piercing through the chest plate of a soldier so close to Jongdae, he can see the shock and pain flaring up in the man’s eyes, a startled gasp falling from his lips that are hidden behind the veil hanging over his face. A ripple runs through the crowd as the man staggers forward, pulls at the arrow, fingers slipping over red, bloody feathers.   
“A warning.”, Jongdae smiles almost gently, eyes curving into small, crescent moons.  The paladin’s face pales, but he opens his mouth, starts to shout his command, just as the crowd splits apart with a scream, the man tumbling to his knees, followed by several more. 

“Fools!”, the paladin yells above them all, spreading his arms wide, a sweeping motion across the roofs surrounding the courtyard in front of the sanctum. 

“The archers! Take down the archers!” 

For a moment nothing  happens, as if they are all caught in a confused limbo, not even Jongdae moves - before one of the guards in front of him raises their sword with a hoarse battle cry, aiming for his head. The arrow hits the man square in the throat, blood wetting the inside of the white veil and leaving an ugly, dirty streak across the fine fabric.   
“The archers!”, the paladin repeats with a shrill shout, drawing his own sword just as Jongdae pushes the stertorously breathing guard to the ground with a hand against his shoulder. The man tumbles to the floor, right on top of the first one of them who died and this time, the gathered crowd scatters like a roused swarm of birds. The splash apart like a flock, gripped by sudden panic at the sight of the bloodshed, the harsh commands of the paladin atop the stage, veiled in the smoke of still sizzling flesh. He bares his teeth, barking out orders over the chaos of the fleeing throng, pointing to where Seungwan’s shadow falls across them, the sun right behind her. She disappears, as if she was nothing but a mirage in the flickering light.   
“Heretics and heathens.”, the soldier spits, yelling for more reinforcements even while Jongdae cuts his way through the ones already storming at him. He ducks, raises his arm to catch a blow to his waist, fingers twisting around a wrist that easily breaks under the force of his hand. His dagger is nothing but a blur, twirling in his hand until the blade is aligned with his forearm, sliding over fabric and skin until it breaks open to reveal crimson flesh and white bone underneath. It’s injury enough for the sanctum guard to drop to her knees with a shrill scream, clutching at her bleeding arm, trying to prevent herself from bleeding out, blinded by pain and shock.   
They all grew up in the absence of pain, Jongdae thinks with a grin laugh that bubbles out of his throat, growing louder with each strike of his dagger, each breaking bone under the ironclad knuckles of his left. He meets the paladin halfway on the stairs towards the stakes, the man’s sword scratching across his chest in a violent, mighty swing that cuts easily through the leather and fabric, even gracing the skin enough for it to sting.   
Jongdae hisses, grabs his weapon tighter as he throws himself forward, catching the next swing aimed at his neck with his own blade, twisting their weapons together until the paladin’s sword catches in the handguard of Jongdae’s dagger. It brings them so close together, Jongdae doesn’t even see the punch to his ribs coming, only feels the way his rib cage cracks under the force of it.   
He growls, snarls so loud he feels his throat rip with the sound, pushing his hand over the man’s face, fingers digging in and ripping into the skin above his eyes with the violent, sharpened tips of his gauntlet. He’s no god yet, perhaps not strong enough to face a paladin of the order, clad in gold. 

He doesn’t have to. 

Something hisses past his cheek, ripping the skin across his cheekbone, blue feathers against the corner of his eye, before the arrow gets stuck deeply in an eye socket. The paladin emits a pained groan, but no scream, letting go of his sword to stumble back, both eyes clutching at his face and the shaft of a blue feathered arrow sticking out of his eye. It would be so easy to kill him- to take his life now with a clean cut of his dagger, but he can’t. To kill a member of the order, the bear the weight of their blood, he needs more time. And it’s not what he is here for.  He sees Han and Tao out of the corner of his eyes, spots Seungwan sprinting along the edge of a roof towards one of the towers. She jumps, dropping her bow into the abyss to draw her knife, throwing  herself at one of the sanctum guards standing there, aiming down at where Han and Tao are fending off the swarm of soldiers streaming out into the courtyard from all sides.  A part of him wants to stop running and turn - turn until he finds Baekhyun in the chaos - but he can’t.  The first cage breaks open easily, dry wood splintering under the power of his foot and he sinks to his knees, grabs the man by the shoulders to shake him awake. He’s dead, throat slit and crusted over with dried blood. Jongdae turns, a curse on his lips even while he breaks open the second and then the third cage. In the fourth, there is movement. The man lying there on his side twitches, eyes fluttering open to reveal white, feverish irises. 

“It’s a trap.”, he croaks just as Jongdae sinks to his knees beside him, pulling him up enough to rest the man’s weight on his lap. “It’s a trap.”

“We know.”, Jongdae answers him softly, starting to pull him to his feet. “It was-”  
“No!”, the white eyed man sobs, clutching at Jongdae’s arm so desperately, he nearly rips through the fabric of his black tunic. “They knew you were coming! Baekhyun and- all of you. They- They knew.”  
The dread spreads cold through him, his heart nearly stopping as he lifts his eyes away from the man’s face, who still tries to keep himself upright on broken legs, pawing at Jongdae’s chest.   
  
They’re surrounded.

Pushed back against the stage, no more arrows, no more tricks. Just a trap snapping shut around them as the courtyard is suddenly alight with fire, raining from the towers above them. The explosion of oil is hot enough for Jongdae to groan, turning his body away as best as he can while keeping the prisoner upright against himself, arms wrapped around a shaking, wavering body. It hits the ground with a roar, catching fire so quickly it’s an explosion of heat and light, spreading across the courtyard so quickly, several sanctum guards catch fire themselves as they flee the scene, scrambling to get out of the way of the burning, roaring death trap.   
“You can fight men.”, the man whispers in Jongdae’s hold and his eyes find Baekhyun’s gaze, from where he is standing next to Seungwan, face pale and panicked, his mouth moving.   
“But you can’t fight fire. None of you can. Not even a god.”

And just as he hears Baekhyun scream his name, the stage explodes below their feet. 

 

They’re thrown backwards against the cages, wood and iron cracking below their bodies and Jongdae hears his own voice screaming in shock and pain as one of the bars pierces through his upper arm where it’s wedged underneath the body of the man, who only groans in muted agony. There’s hot oil splattered across their faces - scalding enough to feel as if it’s burning through their skin and all the way to the bone. He wipes at his face with something that is aching to hysteria, fingers coming away wet with blood and oil, dirty with debris.  A pair of hands grabs him around the collar, tries to pull him up and he kicks blindly, a sound leaving his throat that is half a scream and half a curse. He pushes against the hands, feels gauntlets press into his throat as he’s hauled up so forcefully, the bar slips free from his flesh, ripping through his muscle.   
“Filthy barbarians.”, a voice spits above him, a shimmer of gold flashing through the stunned haze of his mind and Jongdae blinks, tries to get the oil and blood out of his eyes. It’s a second paladin, standing before him, taller and broad-shouldered before him, holding him up with both hands tightly gripping his collar. His feet dangle just a breath above the ground, the tips of his boots brushing over burning oil, the flames licking up across his calves. 

“You are so easy to manipulate.”

“Tyrants always are cowards in the end.”, Jongdae grins at the man as soon as he manages to keep one of his eyes open, tasting the copper on his tongue when he runs it over his split bottom lip.   
The paladin scoffs in front of him, dropping him to the ground as he slowly steps away, a glance thrown into the cage, where the white eyed man moves weakly behind them.   
“It’s a shame to lose such a valued member. But it must be truly bitter for the brotherhood to lose five of their own.”, the paladin says and he sounds almost solemn, almost regretting.   
“But he was the bait we needed. We can’t have another one of you awaken the god.”  
Jongdae can’t think, can’t see through the heavy red fog in his head, his arms giving out underneath him when he tries to push himself up and off the burning ground, spitting blood into the dirt.   
He hears the sword drawn, but the sound doesn’t register in his mind, even though it is oh so familiar to him. A boot knocks into his shoulder, throwing him to the side and he cries out, clutches at the boot that steps down on his ripped upper arm, pressing him into the splintered stones under his body until even the metal of his armor starts cracking in protest.   
“It is only a matter of time until the brotherhood bleeds dry from the inside out.”, he hears the man standing above him say, the boot lifting and then stomping down again.   
“All godly blood will be wiped clean off the earth. All darkness shall perish.”

The sword rises and Jongdae can do nothing but look up at it, eyes following the line of the curved blade, up a heavily armored arm and into a face that could be handsome, were it not twisted in rage. 

Blind hatred. 

He swallows, tries to breathe through the pain shooting up his spine and then down again, making him buck against the foot on his shoulder, the one firmly placed on the edge of his robes, holding him still.   
He feels like a butterfly, about to pinned down with a needle.   
“Hail the healing mother with your blo-”, the man starts. And never finishes. There’s a kick from the side, a powerful thigh pushing so hard, the paladin loses his balance, stumbling to the side and knocking into the remainders of a stake, clutching to a crisp, burned body to steady himself. 

“Baekhyun.”, he seethes, spit dripping over his chin that he hastily wipes away, straightening himself where he stands.   
“Elder Changmin.”, Baekhyun inclines his head, shifting where he stands above Jongdae, almost protectively with his legs wide and his chin raised.   
His teeth are bared in a snarl, disgust creasing his nose. Jongdae desperately wants him to look down, for their eyes to meet, but Baekhyun doesn’t move, only looks at the paladin standing before them both.   
“So it is true.”, the elder whispers, letting his sword sink just that little bit that speaks volumes of his surprise. But his face isn’t surprised, not in the slightest when he says: “They told me… you abandoned us. Did you treat your sacred soul for the darkness of those demons, child?”  
“Did you treat your holy vows for the corruption of power, elder?”, Baekhyun asks back without missing a beat, shifting his dagger into his other hand. “I am not the one who betrayed my principles and teachings.”  
Changmin shakes his head then, sighs with his shoulders sagging as a small, sad smile takes place on his lips, not reaching up into his cold, steel-blue eyes.   
“I will pray the healing mother will grant you a place in heaven.”, he whispers, lunges forward at Baekhyun so fast, he swims before Jongdae’s blurry eyes, the haze of pain throbbing through him before he pushes himself to his knees, manages to push his fingers into the wound to pull at his darkness, stitching himself shut with a hoarse sound of anguish.  Baekhyun is fast, but not strong. Jongdae sees him dodge a blow, an uppercut of the sword that misses his chin by nothing but a hair’s width, the fist aiming at his shoulder having him stumble back enough to be in Jongdae’s reach. He manages to grab him by the belt, pull him away from the paladin and then against his own body as he gets to his feet, wiping at the blood that trickles down his forehead from where he hit his head on the cage. Baekhyun’s hand curls around his forearm, even though he never turns his eyes away from the fuming paladin in front of them, who stops moving so abruptly, he seems frozen in time for a heartbeat. 

“I see.”, he says then, raising his sword again as he slides into a defensive stance. “So this is the man who poisoned your heart and closed your eyes from the truth, my child.”  
“I opened them.”, Jongdae disagrees with a growl, reaching for the second dagger hidden in Baekhyun’s sash, just as he learned from Jongdae.   
“A short lived unity.”, Changmin sneers and braces himself for the impact just as Jongdae darts forward, blade aimed at his leg. The man easily turns out of the way, raising his own sword, but Baekhyun is already there, shielding Jongdae’s open back from the attack, diverting it enough for Jongdae to whip around and paint an angry red line against the paladin’s stomach, just where his sash meets with the golden chestplate of his armor.   
Changmin hisses, raising his knee fast enough to hit Jongdae in the chin, who draws back with an angry snarl, making room for Baekhyun, who pushes forward so close by his side, their arms brush. His wounded arm is useless, the muscles protesting when Jongdae tries to grip the dagger tighter, tossing it over into his other hand just in time to grab he paladin by the wrist and twist his arm away from the punch he is throwing at the side of Baekhyun’s neck.   
He hears himself scream at the stretch of the stitches in his shoulder, the strain. But no man is a match for a paladin of the order, an elder as Baekhyun called him. He’s already pushing back, with such force Jongdae’s feet slip across the ground, his back meeting Baekhyun’s side as they tumble against each other. He buckles under the force, sinking to his knees with a groan, body curving inwards just far enough for the man’s sword to miss his stomach by an inch and nothing more. It catches on the blue sash around his middle, tearing it and Jongdae growls, raises his other hand to clutch at the paladin’s upper arm, keeping him locked in his hold. He feels Baekhyun’s foot on his upper thigh, throwing himself upwards just enough for him to land a punch against the elder’s temple, making him stumble back. 

“They trained you well.”, Changmin says and he sounds so terribly calm, Jongdae feels his blood run cold in his veins, his heart stuttering with something that feels like fear. Only a god, born of the brotherhood, could stop a paladin on their own. They’re equals, even while the light devours the shadows and Jongdae knows they are about to lose. Baekhyun is bleeding from a nasty gash down the side of his face, three long strikes of a clawed gauntlet, splitting his cheek apart.  He’s breathing heavily, hand on Jongdae’s shoulder to pull him up, leaning into his side and for a moment Jongdae isn’t sure which one of them needs the support to stay upright. 

“You’re not a hero, Baekhyun. And you’ll never will be.”

“Then I’ll be the devil.”, Baekhyun spits out and Jongdae feels himself smirk at the words, even though his eyes are trained on the man clad in gold and iron before them. 

The twitch of Baekhyun’s hand against his shoulder is enough to throw him forward again, letting himself fall to his knees, sliding right underneath the swing of the paladin’s sword, feeling the air brush against his face as he tilts his neck back, dagger twirling in his hand to cut through the sinew at the inside of a tender knee, sinking in all the way to the bone. He jumps to his feet then, pivoting out of the man’s reach just as Baekhyun’s knees hit Changmin in the small of his back, one arm wrapping around the taller man’s neck as he raises his other hand, dagger biting deeply into the soft, vulnerable muscle of a shoulder, twisting deeply.   
Changmin roars - a sound of an animal gravely wounded - his attention snapping away from Jongdae, arm bending back so far, he’s able to grab Baekhyun by the back of his tunic, ripping him off of his back as if the man were nothing but a bag of bones, throwing him to the side.  The dagger remains stuck in his shoulder, the wound pulsing out blood with every bated breath the paladin takes, but he doesn’t bother pulling it out. It doesn’t even slow him down and the fear throbs hotter through Jongdae’s veins, even as he blocks a strike of the long, cruelly curved sword.  The strength behind the attack shatters through his arm, has him gritting his teeth as he pushes back into it, throwing his whole body into the length of his arm as he watches their blades meet, clashing with a sound so loud, his ears start ringing from it. 

“You’re too dangerous already.”, the elder whispers, stepping so close Jongdae can taste wet blood on his lips from where it clings to the man’s tongue, teeth red from a punch one of them must have landed earlier. His eyes shine so brightly, Jongdae wants to turn his head away, wants to avert his eyes and it feels as if the whitish blue of the other man’s gaze burns right through his body and into his soul. Baekhyun could have been like that one day, Jongdae thinks as he stumbles back, braces himself for another attack - a series of short stabs and long swings of the sword, pushing back and still further back until he’s with his back against a stake, feeling the press of burnt up bones against his shoulders.  Baekhyun could have been one of them, clad in nothing but white and gold, hunting him down.   
Would they have met on a battlefield like this? Would have Baekhyun been the one to burn innocent people, a fire in his eyes that shakes Jongdae to the core, the seed of the gods inside of him resonating with the beat of his own heart, falling into sync with the breathing of the man standing in front of him, smiling down at him so pleasantly, it is as if he doesn’t have blood on his face, on the gold of his chestplate, running down his body like a waterfall. He doesn’t even seem to feel the pain of his various injuries.   
  
Is this what a god is, in the end? 

A cruel being, shining too brightly for a human to understand?  
The paladin’s sword hisses silver through the air, a sound so pure it’s like the ring of a bell.   
He ducks underneath it, hears the thud of the blade hitting wood and getting stuck, twists around with his fist raised and it lands with a satisfying scrunch of the paladin’s windpipe as he punches once, twice against the side of Changmin’s neck, feeling the muscles and bones there give way to the shape of his ironclad knuckles.  The weight of his dagger is reassuring in his hand, the darkness inside of him roaring loudly as he lunges, grabbing Changmin by the neck to pull him in, his knife meeting him halfway in the space between their bodies, sliding into the gaps of the man’s armor. Over and over again while he hears the man screech in horror and pain, clawing at Jongdae’s face and ripping through his skin.  Ripping into him just like Baekhyun’s blade that slides easily into his back, arm wrapped around Changmin’s neck, fingers gripping Jongdae’s wrist so tightly their arms form a choking hold around the paladin, who wheezes for air, held up by their blades, lodged deep inside his body. 

There are hands flickering over his chest, struggling for a hold on his body, but the elder’s knees are buckling under his weight, the light slowly fading from his eyes as Jongdae watches, their gazes locked together and the god inside of him sings with it.  With the blood on his skin, the dying sun shining inside the man before him, who slowly sinks to his knees and stays there, his head tipping back to look up at Baekhyun, who grabs him by the hair.  
He leans down then, ripping his dagger from Changmin’s back, letting it slice over the man’s bared throat while he whispers: “I’ll pray to the healing mother for your soul.”  
The man’s last breath is nothing but a rattling sound through a ripped windpipe, his hands coming up to touch the wound as if he’s in a daze - and Jongdae watches with grim satisfaction as he tips to the side and falls into the ashes of a stake, the remaining flames of the sizzling oil under their feet licking up across his tunic and armor. 

Jongdae can’t move, even though he knows he should. 

He stands there over the body of the paladin, breathing heavily, his blood pumping through his veins so strongly, he feels dizzy with it. Baekhyun touches his chest then, slow and hesitant, searching for his gaze before he turns away, yelling into the chaos of the fire around them.  Jongdae can’t hear what he’s saying, he’s blinded by the crawling darkness inside his stomach, shadows moving underneath his skin with every hard drum of his heart. 

The god inside of him is screaming in victory, clawing at his insides and for a moment Jongdae wishes there was more blood to spill, more of that light to stomp out with the heel of his foot.   
Let all the light die, he thinks with a sneer, licking over his lips to chase after the taste of copper that clings to them, clings to his tongue and his insides. He would devour them, if only he could. 

Rip apart the world to quench every remaining spark of the light. 

“Jongdae.”, Baekhyun suddenly says next to him and he blinks, feels the other’s hand against his cheek, fingers prodding at the laceration along his hairline. “Can you fight?”  
“Is that a question?”, Jongdae hears his own voice, but it sounds strange to his own ears, hollow and far away. Like he’s nothing than a shell of his former self, empty on the inside where the god starts coil and twist. His skin feels too small, despite his soul seeming so tiny inside of his chest, as if his knuckles will split open any second to reveal the bone underneath.   
“Can you fight, Jongdae?”, Baekhyun repeats and he sounds angry, cupping his face between both his hands. His gloves are ripped at several seams, revealing his skin and Jongdae feels as pang of disgust flicker through him at the rich, still golden color of it.   
“Yes.”, he nods, brushing off the other man’s hands in favor of ripping his blade out of Changmin’s chest, wiping it clean on his sash while he turns to where Seungwan and Han are pulling the limp healer from the rubble of the cage. Seungwan’s hair is burnt, her braid cut off just at the base of her neck, falling in loose strands all around her pale, dirty face. 

“We need to hurry.”, Tao tells them from the bottom of the stage, breathing heavily while clutching a broken arm to his chest, sword loose in his hold. One side of his face is an angry red, the skin there blistered and open, revealing sizzled flesh. Something moves inside of Jongdae. 

“Jongdae.”, Baekhyun says again and this time, the thing inside of him whispers brokenly in to his ear when their eyes meet. He reaches out, wraps a hand around the other’s nape and pulls him in, lets their foreheads rest against each other while he closes his eyes, just breathes in the knowledge that they are both alive. They defeated a paladin of the order.   
“The reinforcements will be here soon and the guard we bribed can’t hold the gate open forever.”, Tao urges them and Jongdae rips himself way, turns on his heel to jump down to join his brother, grabbing him by the shoulder to ask: “Are you alright?”  
“I am fine.”, Tao quips, pushing him away while he holds out both his hands for Seungwan as she slips over the edge of the stage. Han has the unconscious man slung over his shoulder, breathing heavily under the weight.   
They are in no shape to fight, not like this. 

“Baekhyun.”, he whispers and the other is at his side so fast, it’s as if he only waited for him to speak.   
“We need to give them time. The order won’t hesitate to burn down the entire city searching for us, this time. We can’t hide. But Seungwan and Tao are wounded.”  
“I know.”, Baekhyun tells him and the smile on his lips is small - tight around the corners.

“Have my back?”

Always, Jongdae wants to answer but only smiles back, taking his hand to pull him towards the entrance of the courtyard, saying loudly:   
“Take the healer to the gates. Don’t wait for us.”  
“Jongdae-”, Seungwan starts, cut off short by Han’s raised hand.   
“Let them do this.”, he mutters and she nods, defeated. There is a hand gliding over the back of his neck as they pass, holding each other up as Tao pulls the shadows around them. They vanish into the darkness and something falls off his shoulders. It’s as if their lives were a weight, holding him down and now that they are gone, he breathes in deeply, freely.   
“I’m sorry.”, Baekhyun says just before they start running, his voice so faint Jongdae barely catches his words over the crackling, raging fire around them. “I’m sorry for bringing you all here.”   
“Shut up.”, Jongdae tells him, but there is no bite in his words, not at all. The glance they share then feels like the last one they ever will, when they throw themselves into the stream of sanctum guards, pushing out of the entrance of the orders temple.  They hit from the side like a cart of bricks, barrelling into the throng so abruptly, they rip the group apart, pushing them into the smaller alleys leading away from the sanctum.  
Jongdae knows these alleys and streets in the light of a dying sun, blood on his hands that belonged to the very man that is fighting by his side now - and everything seems to fall into place with the way Baekhyun feels like an extension of his own body, reaching where he can’t, turning just in time with every single of Jongdae’s attacks. They fall into each other seamlessly, Baekhyun pivoting to strike from above, cutting through the sanctum guards with one of their own swords, his dagger blocking a strike that would have split through his arm. 

Jongdae ducks underneath him, pushing them both forward as he grabs Baekhyun by the arm, swinging them both around before Baekhyun pushes off of him, using Jongdae’s strength as his own as their hands part. It gives him enough momentum to throw him up against a wall and Jongdae would laugh at it, remembering the day Baekhyun saw him climb through the roof of the safehouse.  He’s come a long way, he thinks while he jumps forward, grabbing a speer aiming for his chest around the hilt, breaking it across his knee before he swings it around and hurls it at the guards approaching from behind, hitting one of them square in the stomach and throwing him backwards. It causes enough chaos for him to dart after Baekhyun. The streets around them are nothing but a labyrinth of houses and doors by now, vacant markets and dried out fountains.   
Baekhyun turns a corner, another one right after and he’s so fast, Jongdae barely sees the end of his robes whenever they break apart. The rumbling of the ocean is close to their right, the air humid and sticky on his tongue with every breath he takes. Not too long ago, he would have easily outrun him, Jongdae thinks to himself with an angry huff, upping his speed with the last remainders of his strength, his upper thighs already starting to cramp. They’ve been fighting for so long, his skin starts tingling with numbness, his senses dulling over with the blood singing through his veins, through his soul. Baekhyun turns once more, grabbing Jongdae by the wrist to tug him closer, down into a corridor between two houses that is so small, they need to squeeze into it, the metal on their armors scratching across stone.  They break free just by the gate where Jongdae left Baekhyun the first time, stumbling out into the open. Jongdae barely catches himself, keeping himself upright with gritted teeth while Baekhyun gasps for air by his side, both hands braced on his knees while he spits out into the sand. 

“This way.”, Jongdae tells him with a touch to his back and Baekhyun nods, pushing himself upwards and towards the street that leads down to the city gate. 

They can already hear the guards coming their way, the loud shouts and rattling weapons, the panicked voice of Seungwan just outside the city wall enough to quicken their steps.   
But there is no fighting, just Tao shoving Seungwan back towards their horses, an angry look on his face as she starts clawing at his chest, at his arms.   
“What is going on here?”, Jongdae snaps as they join them, Baekhyun instantly hurrying over to where Han has the still unconscious man thrown over a horse, strapping him in with ropes around his middle. There is blood trickling down both his hands, Jongdae notes absently in the back of his head before he turns his attention back at Seungwan, who stares him down so angrily, he nearly takes a step back.   
“He wants to stay behind.”, she tells him with an accusing finger raised at Tao, stabbing him in the chest several times. Jongdae notices the wince, but she doesn’t.   
“They’ll chase us across the desert. We either die trying to outrun them, or we make sure these gates are locked. From the inside, Seungwan.”, Tao answers her and he sounds tired, worn out. 

“We can’t leave one of us behind!”

“That is why I have to stay.”, he reasons and Jongdae steps forward to grab his arm, hearing the sound of pain his brother makes ring through his head like the crack of a whip. There is blood, spreading over the darkness of his robes, a wound so deep it gushes blood with every breath Tao takes. It cuts so deep, Jongdae can see the space between his ribs, the muscles there, the bones. He hears Seungwan suck in a breath, a hand curling in front of her mouth before the tears start falling. She sobs, lunges forward just as Baekhyun slings an arm around her waist, holding her back.   
“No.”, she screams, kicking out at him, throwing a punch at Jongdae, who lets go of Tao’s arm with a sigh. The god inside of him start winding tighter.   
“I knew what I was in for.”, Tao says with a grin, already walking backwards towards the gate, pulling the long sword from his hip. “Name your son after me, little sister.”  
“Tao, I swear by the dead gods, come back here!”, Seungwan screeches, bucking so hard in Baekhyun’s hold he barely manages to keep her in his arm.   
Jongdae’s fist nearly breaks her cheekbone when he punches her hard enough to knock her out. 

“Remind them”, he says loudly, turning back to where Tao is raising his sword, ready to break the wooden mechanism holding the gate open for them. “That even a wounded master is better than them. Remind them why they fear us.”  
“I will.”, Tao grins at them, just as the sword comes down.  Jongdae hears Han yip behind him, the sound of thundering hooves drumming through his body.  
But he stands there, waits for the gates to fall shut, for Tao to vanish into the crowd storming at him.   
“All godly blood will be wiped clean off the earth. All darkness shall perish.”, he whispers before he too, turns away to mount his horse. 


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew ok. Dabbing at my sweat right now.   
> Normally I update faster, but work is killing me right now and sitting down to edit a chapter seemed tedious lmao  
> This chapter would be considered a "political episode" if this were GoT hah so there is a lot of talking, more talking and some development that some of you might have seen coming our way already! Please enjoy and tell me what you think! Leave me a kudo or a comment it makes me super happy <3

Seungwan comes to with a scream so loud, it echoes through the dunes.   
  
Her fist hits Jongdae at the temple, throwing his head to the side and he groans, lifts a hand to touch where she hit, his fingertips coming away bloody from the welts in his skin where her gauntlet ripped him open.   
“You left him to die!”, she yells, throwing herself at him with her whole weight, but she’s too small to even make him stumble backward. He wraps an arm around her, catches her free hand while he presses her against himself, holding her other hand trapped between them.  Baekhyun looks worried for a second, sitting beside his healer on the ground, making him sip water from their last waterskin. Han only scoffs, turning back to cleaning his wounds, cursing under his breath in the lilting accent from the Delta. 

“It was his own choice.”, he answers her sternly hugging her closer when he feels her starting to struggle again. “Who am I to deny a member of the brotherhood their last wish?”  
“It wasn’t his last wish!”, she insists, stomping down on his foot and he snarls at her, grabs her by the shoulders and throws her into the sand. She whines, clutching at her side, fingers covering the nasty burns there as best as she can.   
“Pull yourself together.”, Jongdae hisses, taking a step back to bring distance between them, so far away from the fire now, he is nothing more than a shadow. “You are an assassin, Seungwan. You are letting your feelings win. If I had known your pregnancy would interfere with the understanding of the creed, I wouldn’t have taken you with us.”  
She growls, one of her hands instinctively coming down over her belly and Jongdae sees Baekhyun shift where he sits, his eyes flickering back and forth between Seungwan on the ground and up back up to him.   
“What would Chanyeol say?”, Jongdae asks her and he almost sounds gentle, holding out a hand for her to take. She looks at him with a curled upper lip, before she reaches up and lets him pull her to her feet. “And as your  _ haldae,  _ what would I do if you lost yourself in your emotions?”  
“Chanyeol wouldn’t say anything.”, Han pipes up from where he is stitching darkness through his skin.   
Seungwan shoots him a withering glare then, ripping herself loose from Jongdae’s hold on her hand and turns on her heel, walking away into the darkness to where she has built a small tent for the night.   
When Baekhyun opens his mouth to call after her, Jongdae holds out a hand, silencing him.  
  
Darkness belongs in the desert, as does silence. 

 

Junmyeon wakes up during their second day, startling awake on his horse, a panicked noise leaving his chapped, split lips as he notices the bindings around his legs and his wrists, holding him still in the saddle.   
The healer begins to struggle, fighting against the ropes, until Baekhyun manages to steer his horse around, grabbing him by the upper arm.   
At first it seems as if the man wants to pull away from the touch, until their eyes meet - wide, frightened ones meeting dark where there used to be color.   
“Baekhyun.”, he whispers then and moves his arm as if to reach out for the other man and Jongdae feels something twist in his chest as Baekhyun smiles gently at the healer, lifting a hand to touch his cheekbone, just where the bruise around his left eye ends.   
“Who else, if not me?”, he asks and Jongdae turns away, grits his teeth and breathes through the sudden wave of jealousy that brushes through him. He turns his head away, presses his heels tightly into his horse’s flanks and steers it forward, closing up to Han, who rides in front of them all, silent.  Perhaps he’s gotten too used to used to Baekhyun’s constant chattering, he thinks as he catches himself searching for the other’s voice, his chest tightening while he hears him laughing over the soft chastising of the healer.   
“You shouldn’t have come.”, he hears Junmyeon say and although it’s a reprimand, there is gratitude shining through the soft chiding. “You jeopardized yourself. If I had known you would-”  
“You came to my rescue too, Junmyeon.”, Baekhyun interrupts him so gently Jongdae has to bite down on his tongue at the sudden disgust welling through him. “I only paid my debt.”  
“But…”, Junmyeon starts again and it’s clear he’s looking at the other’s who travel with them, his voice nothing but a hesitant mumble when he says: “There were four of them. Did…”  
“Five of us.”, Jongdae speaks up suddenly, voice so hard he feels as if his own words are cutting through him like knives. “Five of us left for the order’s city state. Four of us return. And you.”  
Junmyeon’s eyes are wide when Jongdae turns his horse around, pulling at the reins so hard his his horse huffs in protest, turning in a tight circle as he rounds on both Baekhyun and the healer.   
“We paid godly blood for your life.”, he spits, reaching over to cut Junmyeon loose form where they have bound him to the saddle so he wouldn’t fall during his unconsciousness. “Be thankful my sister isn’t cutting your throat now for it.”  
Seungwan’s answer is a soft sound, half a snort and half a grunt, but it’s not her Jongdae pays attention to. His eyes are on Baekhyun, who looks back at him with furrowed brows and narrowed eyes, the corners of his pursed lips drawn downward. He opens his mouth to speak, but Jongdae scoffs when he sees the way the other man’s fingers curl around Junmyeon’s wrist, consoling and soothing the rope marks on his skin.   
“Save your breath.”, Seungwan says just in the moment Jongdae rips his horse around once more, giving a short, loud command and it starts galloping back to the front of their small procession.   
He’s not angry because of Tao, he wants to say. He wants to turn around, grab Baekhyun by the shoulders and shake him until he wakes up from whatever memory he’s caught in. 

He’s not a member of the order anymore, no son of the sun. No more light for him, only darkness. 

But the way he’s looking at Junmyeon pulls at Jongdae’s heart, at his very soul that loathes the yearning in Baekhyun’s eyes when he looks at his friend - his bright, colorful friend.   
The god inside of him churns, whispering into his ear and Jongdae wishes he could say all those things he so desperate needs to get off of his mind. And yet he can’t - not when Baekhyun looks at Junmyeon as if he’s everything he isn’t.   
He remembers then, as he brings more distance between them both, Baekhyun’s voice growing faint behind him, how he longed to have eyes of indigo like Baekhyun. To see the world in a different kind of light. A light so bright it would burn out the memories of his life, until there is nothing left of him but the seed of his godhood. Eyes of indigo, back when he had the choice to prevent himself from all of this. From feeling like he handed the weapon to kill him over to a man who will probably never understand what Jongdae has to do. 

 

The temple is silent in the night, nothing but a black and white silhouette against the dunes, its gates a gaping hole into the realm of death itself - or so it feels to Baekhyun.   
He’s helping Junmyeon off of his horse, glancing up at the pillars where he can see shadows moving, the faintest hint of the guards up there, looking back down at him from inside the dark.   
“Welcome to the brotherhood, healer.”, Han says as he passes them, saddle slung around his shoulder and stretching out his neck with an audible popping noise. The words aren’t scathing, but there is a certain kind of hostility in him that has Baekhyun’s skin crawling. And yet, perhaps it’s just the way Han talks. Seungwan doesn’t look at him even when he offers to help her with her saddle bag and rolled-up tent, just shooting him a glare so heated, Baekhyun shrinks away from it. 

“Should I bring him to the infirmary?”, he asks loudly, waiting for one of the other’s to answer him - for Jongdae to turn around and smile at him, tell him what to do. But even though Jongdae turns to look at him, he doesn’t answer. He just looks at him, face voice of every emotion Baekhyun normally sees shining in those oh so dark eyes, veins purple around his eyes even in the scarce light of the moon.   
“Jongdae?”, he asks softly, holding Junmyeon steady against his side with an arm slung around his middle. As if the call of his name ripped him out of his thoughts, Jongdae jerks into motion, spinning around on his heel so fast, the flaps of his robes swing around his thighs and Baekhyun hears him mutter: “I’ll inform Minseok of our return.”  
“Jong-”, he starts again and this time Seungwan moves. She hisses at him while she walks by, but there is no anger directed towards him, just a warning to leave Jongdae alone.   
They are  _ haldae  _ after all, sworn by blood, connected like siblings even if they aren’t. If only he knew what he did, he thinks to himself with a bitter sigh, pulling Junmyeon even closer into his side as he leads him up towards the temple, the healer uncharacteristically silent next to him.

“This is impressive.”, Baekhyun hears him mutter while they walk through the garden of pillars, Junmyeon’s feet dragging over the rough cobblestones. “I’ve never… imagined it to be like this.”  
“Did you imagine them to live in a cave like barbarians?”, Baekhyun jokes and Junmyeon looks at him with one eyebrow raised, wincing when the motion of his muscles pulls at the bruises and cuts all along his face.   
“You mean… us, right?”, he asks silently and Baekhyun bites the inside of his cheek, breathing out slowly. They’re not the same anymore, him and Junmyeon. They don’t belong with each other anymore and while Junmyeon is the one leading Joohyun to him that fateful night, it’s not him that is now a part of the brotherhood. It’s not Junmyeon, whose skin is pale and starting to become translucent, the veins shining through at the wrists. And it’s not him, who looks at Baekhyun with dark eyes and even darker hair, the strands already falling black into his eyes.   
“Can I ask you a question?”, Junmyeon suddenly speaks up again while Baekhyun leads him down towards the main halls of the temple, knowing that he can find either Soojung or Taehyung there to treat his friend’s wounds. They should all be gathered for the midnight meal or studies of the apprentices. Baekhyun hums, nodding slowly and Junmyeon draws in a long, preparing breath.   
“The one you were calling out to.”, he says then, cocking his head so he can look up at Baekhyun, white eyes shining curiously. “Is he the one who… saved you from Heechul?”  
“Yes.”, Baekhyun answers him without hesitation, opens his mouth to say something else and then falls silent. Is there anything more to say? Jongdae did save him from Heechul and perhaps from so many other things too, but what else can he say? That the man is the one who opened his eyes, who held him at night as if there is nothing in the world he would have to fear as long as the other man is with him. And he wishes Jongdae would be with him right now, too.   
“I see.”, Junmyeon smiles and there is something in his voice that tells Baekhyun that his friend knows, even though he didn’t say any of his thoughts out loud. Junmyeon always knew. He just did and Baekhyun never questioned him - so who is he to start questioning now? 

“You should probably talk to him.”

“What makes you think so?”

Junmyeon shrugs then, hissing through his teeth at the pain it causes him and then mutters:   
“Because I know the look on someone’s face… when there is something that desperately needs to be talked about, Baekhyun. And between you two… there is an abyss that will grow wider, if you don’t go and close it.”   
He falls silent then, mouth opening in awe when they step into the dining hall of the temple, cool with a breeze coming from the open wall on the right, lined with pillars and softly moving curtains.   
There are both students and masters gathered here, but none of them pays them any mind until they pass, conversations falling silent as Baekhyun helps Junmyeon sit down on one of the benches, stopping dead in his tracks when he feels someone looking at him. Looking at him with a weight so different he would know who it was even in a crowd as big as this.  Minseok sits there like a statue, Jongdae bent over the back of his chair to whisper into his ear and Baekhyun suddenly has to grit his teeth, his throat curving inwards with the breath he sucks in through his teeth. The god’s fingers are playing with the rim of a golden goblet, tips red with the drops of wine he smears into the metal. His chin is resting on his other hand, fingers curling and uncurling as if to mirror the lazy back and forth of his fingers on the goblet. But his eyes are on Baekhyun, unblinking and unmoving, the black slowly expanding with the grin on his lips.  Joohyun next to him suddenly moves, her head snapping upwards and her gaze landing on the man by Baekhyun’s side. She makes to get up, the piece of bread she had between her hands falling onto her plate, but Minseok’s hand shoots out to grab her shoulder, stopping her.  There is a moment of tension that crackles through the room even with the distance between them and Baekhyun can feel the hair in his neck rising with. 

“Let me go, brother.”, Joohyun says and although her voice is faint on the other end of the table, Baekhyun hears the venom dripping from her words. “Now.”

Minseok’s lip curls, but his hand slowly opens around her shoulders and she immediately shoots up from her chair, as if she fears he will change his mind, if she sits next to him a single second longer.   
“You idiot.”, she snaps as soon as she’s close enough and Baekhyun almost steps forward to stop her from slapping Junmyeon, who only laughs and holds out a hand to her. She glares at him, her mouth nothing but a thin white line, but then she reaches out and takes his hand, stepping forward just enough for Junmyeon to wrap an arm around her middle and pull her in.  Baekhyun has to look away when they foreheads touch, Joohyun starting to whisper angry curses down at the healer, who starts chuckling softly under his breath, his fingers running up and down her spine, his voice soft while he whispers back at her.  And his eyes meet Jongdae’s, who still stands by Minseok’s side, face as hard as stone and his hand gripping the back of Minseok’s chair so tightly, the tips of his fingers are turning white.  There is an abyss between them suddenly and Baekhyun doesn’t know why. 

 

“What do you want, Baekhyun’?”, Jongdae asks even before the curtain clutters shut behind him, back turned to him from where he is standing by one of his shelves, placing his weapons back where they belong. He’s stripped out of his armor by now, arms bare as Baekhyun is used to, as are his feet.  And while a part of him is thankful there is no anger in Jongdae’s tone, there is a different voice whispering into his ear that there is no emotion at all.  
“You never asked me what I want when I came here to see you.”, Baekhyun quips and Jongdae breathes out an annoyed little huff, shooting him a look over his shoulder. “I am asking you now.”  
“Will you talk to me?”, Baekhyun snaps right back and watches Jongdae’s upper lip furl with something he doesn’t know. The dark lines around his eyes seem to pulse even deeper with a single heartbeat, vanishing completely as Jongdae rolls his eyes and runs a hand through his hair.  It’s grown a little too long, Baekhyun thinks while he watches the way Jongdae’s fingers curl around the little braid at the back of his head, fingernails scraping over the sides of his head where his head is normally so short, his scalp is flashing through it. Now, his fingers sink deeply into the hair there, long enough to conceal them up to the first knuckle of his bruised fingers. 

“Is there something to talk about? You got your friend back. Go spend time with him.”, Jongdae says and he sounds bored, almost tired with the way he makes to turn back to the shelve, stopped only by the angry sound Baekhyun makes when he steps forward and deeper into the room.   
“Cut it out, Jongdae.”, he hisses and Jongdae raises an eyebrow at him, opening his mouth to speak, but Baekhyun quickly adds: “And don’t tell me I have to respect you. I am a master of the brotherhood, just like you are.”  
“Are you?”, Jongdae smiles back, but there is something dangerous to the curve of his lips, the sharpness of his eyes. “I didn’t know you are, after you told your healer that  _ the brotherhood _ agreed to help you. Are you one of us, or are you not? Make up your mind, Baekhyun.”  
“Isn’t the question you really want to ask if I am yours or not?”

There is a beat of silence and Baekhyun watches Jongdae suck in a breath. But there is nothing shocked about it, just something that reminds him once more that Jongdae is nothing but a tiger, waiting to tear him apart.   
And a part of of him wishes he would. It would be better than the stoic, emotionless way he looks at him right now.   
“I told you my reason to come with you.”, Jongdae whispers scathingly, slowly starting to walk forward until he is standing right in front of Baekhyun, a hard finger jabbing into his chest.   
“And this is not about you and me, not about us. It is about you behaving as if you’re not one of us.”  
“I am one of you.”, Baekhyun tells him sternly and Jongdae looks as if he wants to scoff. There is the darkness again, swirling in his eyes, bleeding into the white from where the fine veins across his temples are starting to throb angrily. “But you-”  
“What about me?”, Jongdae asks harshly. “What about me, Baekhyun? Am I supposed to stand there and watch, while you fall all over yourself for that healer?”  
“You’re jealous.”, comes the seething answer and the finger stabbing his chest stops, instead turning into fingers curling into his robes and holding him still. “Admit it, Jongdae.”  
“Get out of my room.”, is the answer he gets and it sounds so enraged, Baekhyun wants to take a step back in shock. “Get out of my room and go see Junmyeon before I do something we both regret.”  
He could leave now, Baekhyun thinks while he stares at the black in Jongdae’s eyes, at the way his eyes seem to be alight with something that is brighter than any fire he has ever seen in his life.   
And yet, while something inside of him tells him to run - run away from this evil in front of him he doesn’t understand, doesn’t know - he suddenly thinks of Jongin. He thinks of the way Minseok looks at him, the things he heard that night in the baths. It was jealousy that ripped them apart, took Jongin’s legs from him in a moment of rage Minseok wasn’t able to control.   
He knows it must be that way, what with the way Jongdae’s fingers suddenly tighten in his robes, his teeth bared as if he’s struggling with himself not to growl like a vicious animal.   
“I was scared to lose you.”, Baekhyun breathes out then, raising a hand to curl it around Jongdae’s on his chest, thumb pressing into the hollow between two knuckles. “And now I’m scared I’ll lose you to the god growing inside of you. I… Are you still with me, Jongdae? Or will immortality take you from me, before I even really had you?”  
Jongdae stares. He looks confused, eyebrows furrowing and his fingers slowly loosening their hold on Baekhyun’s shirt, but staying there with the help of Baekhyun’s own. He just stands there, their eyes locked together and Baekhyun thinks that this is what he knows. The way the world narrows around them, a wandering ray of light that falls onto them and drowns out the rest of the universe.  
  
Until there is nothing left, but them. 

“You can’t be my weakness.”, Jongdae suddenly tells him but it’s barely there, his lips are moving but the sound is muted, averse. “Not if you’re not… going to follow me into what I have to become.”  
“I will.”, Baekhyun half cuts him off, reaching out to cup Jongdae’s jaw. “I will, Jongdae. I think I always did. I did ever since we met. You just didn’t know it.”  
Jongdae closes his eyes then, stutters out the breath he was holding and Baekhyun dares to smooth his thumb over a high cheekbone, leaning in just enough for Jongdae to kiss him if he wants to.   
He does, but it feels like there is something lingering on his tongue he can’t say. 

“If you stay tonight-”, Jongdae begins, stopped by Baekhyun’s lips on his again. 

He stays. He always would. 

 

The feeling lingers - this knowledge in the back of his head that something changed between them on that roof in the city, that something is about to change in the world around them. It remains while he undresses Jongdae, so much slower than the first time, letting his fingers press into bruises that are already turning yellow under his pale skin. He takes his time, as does Jongdae.  Baekhyun knows his body changed, but it’s so painfully evident to him that night, when Jongdae scrapes his fingernails over a scar on his arm where an arrow graced him during training. They are equals now, both in combat and in life, the same scars on their skin. And Jongdae lets him touch all of them, patient in the way he kisses Baekhyun, almost as if he is trying to devour his soul.  But there is the taste of sadness on his tongue whenever their mouths meet and Baekhyun kisses him harder each and every time, trying to replace it with something else. It still lingers, even when he presses Jongdae back onto the bed, half expecting him to turn them over like he did before. 

And yet, he doesn’t. 

Instead he looks up at Baekhyun with eyes filled with something that is close to dread, intertwined with a sense wonder he can’t even begin to comprehend. Jongdae allows him to climb into his lap, holding him with an arm around his waist, painting new bruises across his throat while Baekhyun pulls the leather strings from his hair, letting the braid fall open to tangle his fingers into Jongdae’s black hair, a stark contrast against his white fingers.   
They stay like that, Baekhyun trembling against Jongdae when he starts working him open with slick, calloused fingers, shushing him through the noises he makes, squeezing more out of him with every touch, every push and pull that has them undulating against each other.  He waits for Jongdae to turn them, every breath he takes, every shuddering beat of his heart.  Instead, the other just looks up at him, eyes crinkling with the beginning of a sad, sad smile.   
Baekhyun steals it from his lips with a heated kiss, pressing him back against the sheets while he sinks down onto him, their gazes locked no matter how hard he wants to throw his head back and let his eyes fall shut, dissolve with the feeling of Jongdae inside of him, all around him.  And still, Jongdae doesn’t stop him, doesn’t grip him to cease his movements. He just holds him tighter, pushing himself up into a sitting position with a hand underneath Baekhyun to help him move, lips wandering over the hollow of his throat, over the dip of his collarbones and the jut of his neck.  Something changed between them and while Baekhyun thinks he should enjoy this, it doesn’t feel right. Jongdae’s touch is too light, so tender it breaks him into tiny pieces of himself.  He wants to hurt him, suddenly - if only to get a different reaction out of him than this. And so he does, letting his fingernails rake down Jongdae’s chest to leave bloody wells behind, watches them smooth over with the webbing of dark veins running underneath his skin, only to rip them open once more. 

The pain only makes Jongdae groan, buck up against him and Baekhyun hears himself moan, doesn’t recognize his own voice with how hard it sounds, how rough. 

When he moves his hand, wraps it around Jongdae’s throat to press down, the other finally stills underneath him, eyes finding his even through the haze of lust and pleasure and Baekhyun’s breath stutters in his chest when there are fingers closing over his own, ripping them away from Jongdae’s neck to twist his arm, holding it still against his own lower back. But their movements doesn’t cease, never stopping that rhythm that they built up with each other. It’s the same, no matter if they fight or share the heat of their desire with each other. Taking, never giving. 

“Don’t.”, Jongdae whispers hoarsely against his jaw, teeth nipping on his skin. “I’ll break your wrist.”

“Why?”, Baekhyun asks him around a moan, letting Jongdae’s hands guide his body, pressing them together so tightly he feels as if he’s about to combust.   
Jongdae just closes his eyes, let his head tip forward against Baekhyun’s shoulder and groans, his whole body tensing, muscles jumping when Baekhyun wraps his hands around his upper arms to hold himself upright while he shakes through it with him. Jongdae doesn’t move, after.  He just sits there, holding Baekhyun so still he thinks he can’t breathe if only the arms around him would squeeze a little tighter. And Baekhyun lets him, tries to erase the feeling of the unspoken between them.   
  
He can’t.   
  
  
The air is crisp with something Jongdae can’t quite put into words.  Around him the desert looks as if it’s on fire, but it’s a gentle light that falls across the hills and valleys, his own shadow long behind him when he climbs the side of the temple, arms already trembling from his own weight, the injury in his shoulder still tender. The stone under his fingers is rough, still cold and slightly damp from the night and each time he fits his fingertips into another gap between the stones, he feels more moisture cling to his skin. It’s almost a gentle feeling, anchoring him to the here and now, soothing over the fire that still pulses through him whenever he closes his eyes. There are shadows of stakes dancing across his lids whenever he lets them fall shut, the taste of blood hot on his tongue when it touches his lips. As if he’s constantly bleeding, mouth coated with crimson. 

He feels as if it’s coating his teeth underneath his lips, runs over his tongue with the taste of iron and copper. But it’s not unpleasant, even though his soul is unsettled with it. 

Perhaps the air around him tastes like blood too, he thinks while he pushes himself off the stone, twisting in the air to grab onto the final ledge up above his head, muscles trembling as he manages to pull himself up onto the highest roof of the temple, bathed in golden light. For a moment he stands there, breathing through his nose to calm his rapid heartbeat and he wonders what would happen, if he turned around and flung himself off the temple, down into the sand. Would the writhing being inside his chest protect him, or would he break open like a earthen pot?  The sand under his feet shifts across the stone of the roof, trickling with little rivulets of black and he watches the grains scatter when he steps down on them, pooling around the imprint of his boot when he lifts his foot again, as if they were a breathing, living thing. 

“Good morning.”, Minseok greets him from where he sits with his legs crossed on a spot clear of sand, hands resting on his knees with his palms turned up and Jongdae watches for a moment, how rivers of sand flow from the ground and into the god’s hands, gathering in the spaces between his fingers before slipping away again, crawling under the other’s light robes. Minseok’s hair is wet, water dripping from the strands hanging down over his neck and across his collar, even down his face and when the man moves to look up at him, they are already curling against his forehead with the beginning heat of the humid, heavy warmth of the coming day.  Jongdae presses his lips together, nods in lieu of a greeting and sinks into a cross legged seat mirroring Minseok’s own, just an arm’s length away from the other, eyes trained on the far, slowly paling horizon.   
“You are utterly quiet today, my friend.”, Minseok comments and he would sound aloof, if it weren’t for the obvious teasing lilt clinging to his words. Jongdae sneers in silent warning, shooting the god a look through narrowed eyes and Minseok cocks his head to the side, eyelashes fluttering across pale cheekbones. The black of his eyes seems to be moving, wavering around the edges and swimming around his lashes, almost as if it could drip down his face any second now, sticky like oil.   
  
“Is he planting seeds of doubt into your heart, Jongdae?”, Minseok asks, reaching out to touch an obvious bruise across Jongdae’s collarbone where Baekhyun’s teeth have bitten down a little bit too hard in the throes of pleasure. “Or are you already so deeply infatuated with the little soldier that you are afraid to choose the wrong path?”   
“What path?”, Jongdae instantly retorts and Minseok’s lips curl at the corners. “Is there even time left for me to choose? Or have the dead gods decided over my fate?”  
“They decide of our fates long before we aware we have one.” Minseok shifts, adjusts his legs and breathes in slowly, eyes fluttering and then turning back towards Jongdae, unmoving and unblinking while the black swirls and writhes. “The paths of destiny are laid out in front of us like the desert, Jongdae. Ever changing and still leading to the very same destination. Which way you go, depends on you, not them. Don’t go and blame the gods for your own decisions.”  
  
“I don’t blame anyone but myself.”

“But then”, comes the silent chuckle, ridges forming in the sand around them with the sound of Minseok’s laughter. “You are already blaming a god.”  
“So there really is no choice anymore, is there?”, Jongdae wants to know silently and even though his chest is aching, there is no regret in his voice. He wants to regret it, wants to erase those webbing lines from his skin where they span out underneath his markings and over his scars, even darker than the symbols and lines engraved into his skin with black ink. And yet he knows he wouldn’t, even if he could. He is not like Yixing, who chose to stay behind for someone else.  There is no choice for him, with Baekhyun or without. He’s already closed too many doors behind him, to turn around and open them again. Baekhyun could have never changed that, even if he wanted to.   
“Search your soul. You already have the answer.”, is the only thing Minseok says before they both fall silent, watching the sun rise in front of them and above the desert, turning golden light into pale yellows and whites.   
“The order will call for assassin blood soon.”, Jongdae eventually breaks the quiet that almost feels peaceful, even if the sand around them both never stops moving, never stops crawling across Minseok’s skin, where it turns black and to nothing but dust. “For the death of their paladin.”  
“Mhm.”, the man by his side only hums and for another few minutes, it stays the only sound between them, before he adds: “We knew it would be inevitable, Jongdae. The death of one, leads to the hunger for revenge. They’ll call it justice, but there is no justice in vengeance. You and I both know this, Jongdae.”  
“So then why are you here, if not for that?”, Jongdae asks him and his voice is sharp, like the blade Minseok has laid out across his lap, silver and bright where it rests on the leather of his pants.   
“For what?”, Minseok shoots right back and the smile on his lips is too pleasant, too bright. It only moves his lips, not his eyes and Jongdae feels his upper lip lift in a snarl. “To see if your revenge finally bears fruit? Say, did it help cutting Taeyeon down as if she were nothing more than an animal beneath your foot? Didn’t it feel good, Jongdae, to be finally free?”  
“Freedom is nothing but an illusion in this world.”, Jongdae spits back and Minseok laughs, bright and tinkling, one hand balling atop of his knee. The sand whispers then, veined with black. 

“Indeed.”, he nods then, raising an eyebrow at Jongdae in a silent, unspoken challenge. “We don’t really have a choice, devoted to the creed as we are.”

His words are dangerous, Jongdae realizes then, laced with a threat and a question all at once. He’s answered it already, both ot it. And yet Minseok is prodding - probing deeper into Jongdae’s soul than he wants him to. Baekhyun is a chink to him, in the carefully constructed mask Jongdae always presents Minseok, even though he knows the god can see right through it. He’s given both of them lenience for too long and Jongdae knows that, too. 

“I’ve been indulgent with this for a long time, brother.”, Minseok smiles then and Jongdae feels his own skin tighten with it - the sudden dread and horror of the other’s words that hold so much more meaning than they both let on.   
“And now, there is no turning back. For neither of us.”  
“No.”, Jongdae agrees and their eyes meet, the god inside of his chest tensing and pressing up against his skin under Minseok’s scrutiny. Like an echo from a long lost past, resonating with the presence of an older, greater one.  
“No there is not.”

 

Jongdae has known Joohyun since she was nothing more than a child, born into the brotherhood like not many. He watched her grow while he himself had so many things to learn she was taught from the moment she was born, learning how to walk where she was already running.  She rose to power quicker than most of them, succeeding her mistress Hyoyeon at the mere age of fourteen. Jongdae was a master already, back then, Taeyeon’s head in his saddle bag nothing more than a gruesome nightmare. And even now, with his skin nearly as transparent as paper while hers still held a golden glow, she feels like a lioness in the body of a girl.   
“I will not allow it.”, she decides, brushing her hand over the space between them like one would wipe dust off a table, almost as if she could wipe away their request just as easy.   
“I wasn’t asking for permission.”, Jongdae answers her and sees the silent guardian Seunghyun move next to him, holding out a nimble, bony hand towards Junmyeon, who sits on a chair in front of them.  
Joohyun’s hands tighten on his shoulders then, holding him still while her face draws into an angry scowl.   
“You will not question after he just healed.”, Joohyun snaps at him and her mouth moves as if she wants to bite the hand off Seunghyun is offering to the man sitting between them. “No.”  
“Do I have to restrain you, my sister?”, Minseok suddenly asks from the side, arms folded over his chest where he stands in a vortex of swirling shadows, overseer Yesung waving an annoyed hand at the thick, grey smoke curling across the table. 

“If I had known you would threaten both him and myself, I wouldn’t have brought him here.”, Joohyun retorts with a smile as sweet as honey and as dangerous as a hornets sting.  
“Nobody is threatening you.”, Minseok soothes her with a small wave of his hand, shaking his head while he gives her a pointed look, both eyebrows raised so high they nearly disappear beneath the fringe of hair falling across his forehead. “But of what value is he for the brotherhood, if you are so adamant on keeping us as far away from him as possible?”  
“You didn’t hesitate to welcome Baekhyun into our home, brother. Of what value was he, back then?”, she growls, her fingers digging into Junmyeon’s shoulders so hard, the man winces. Jongdae almost pities him.   
“I came here on my own and I didn’t have information of any importance.”, Baekhyun pipes in from where he sits behind Jongdae, legs folded on a thick, crimson pillow. He smiles at Junmyeon then, apologetic almost and Jongdae rolls his eyes without the attempt on hiding it, when the other man smiles back, shaking his head just the slightest. No offense taken, apparently.  Jongdae almost wishes he would be offended. The man is too calm, too smooth for Jongdae’s liking. Too kind, what with the way he smiles at all of them ruefully, asking for forgiveness for the brother they lost while trying to get him out alive. 

“I will answer all your questions.”, Junmyeon decides then, Joohyun’s head snapping down to look at him and he answers her eyes with determination, reaching up to pat her hand on his shoulder.  
“It’s the least I can do and it is important for the brotherhood to know. It bears no delay, dove.”

She scoffs, angrily pressing her fingers into his flesh, but he doesn’t falter, doesn’t back down.   
As hard as it is for Jongdae to admit, he’s impressed. There are not many men who wouldn’t cower before her.   
And yet, she gives up, stepping back with a sigh and beckoning Seunghyun forward, who is still silently offering his hand towards Junmyeon, who reaches for it without hesitation.   
“The trap.”, Jongdae immediately says before any of the other masters in the room can speak up, stepping back to give them all clear view on the voiceless guardian and the order’s healer.   
The man’s white eyes flicker over to him, lips pursing before he says: “They knew you would come. Someone informed them about your attempt to save my life. And Changmin was the one who volunteered to take Baekhyun down, if he would be amongst the assassin’s coming to get me.”  
“Why?”, Minseok asks and there is no room for anybody else to speak, his eyes trained on Junmyeon with such a hunger, Jongdae feels his throat tightening around air.   
“Because he knows the order. As do I.”, Junmyeon answers without looking over at the god. Instead, he focuses on Baekhyun, who is uncharacteristically silent behind Jongdae, leaning forward on his pillow to catch every single one of Junmyeon’s silent, hesitant words.   
“We are a liability to them, now. I became one the moment I freed my friend from their deadly grasp and I became target to the schemes binding both the brotherhood and the order together, the moment I discovered them.”  
“What?”, Jiyong quips, sitting up on his own pillow, swatting at Yoona’s hand that has been carding through his hair gently. “What is he talking about?”  
In front of Junmyeon, the voiceless guardian shifts, lifting a hand to stop the upcoming commotion amongst them before motioning for the man to continue, who draws in a shaky breath. He looks nervous now, fingers flexing in Seunghyun’s hold and his white eyes flickering over the faces of the attending masters. Jongdae’s eyes, though, are on Minseok. 

The god stands tall, hands balled by his sides and jaw working, a muscle jumping just at the edge. 

It’s an emotion Minseok hasn’t showed in a long time. He seems restless where he stands, as if he’s ready to snap, his shoulders tight and straight, eyes trained intently on Junmyeon’s face, waiting.   
“Continue.”, Seungwan says somewhere in the back of the room and Jongdae almost turns to look at her, drawn to the soft sound of her voice in the silent chaos surrounding them.   
Junmyeon nods then, gripping Seunghyun’s hand a little tighter when he says: “I managed to obtain a letter sent to the elders of my- of the order. It held information not only about the people coming to the city state, but also about the Delta and the assassin’s there. It spoke of masters all across the land and their missions.”  
Kyuhyun scoffs then, as do several others, but Minseok seems wired to the sound, head snapping to the side like a dog scenting the air. Jongdae watches as the god’s eyes flicker over the faces of the masters, one by one, stopping at Jongdae’s own. He wets over his lips, raises an eyebrow at Minseok, whose eyes narrow before his face smoothes out into as pleasant, simpering smile.   
“A scheme he says.”, master Jaejoong drawls, head still resting on Sehun’s upper thigh, who sits rigid above him, leaned back on the dias so far, he seems as if he’s trying to tip it over backwards.   
“The order sowing mistrust in our own ranks, I call it. It’s a good plan.”  
It’s Joohyun, who hisses in anger, so loud several masters flinch at the noise. “Watch your words, master. The moment you call Junmyeon a traitor, you call me one as well.”  
“We have a defector of the order in our ranks now, who says the order can not-”, Jaejoong starts, interrupted by Minseok’s angry snarl, who spins around so fast, he seems as if he’s ready to slap the other master across the face.   
“Hold your tongue, Jaejoong. As my sister said, you doubt one, you doubt all. If you call her a renegade, you would call my own blood traitorous. Is it this, what you want? You are the one bringing forth the idea the order is trying to sow mistrust and yet you are the very one who speaks of it.”  
“Joohyun has been gone for years now, Minseok.”, Jaejoong spits right back, slowly getting up from Sehun’s lap and to his feet. He’s several inches taller than Minseok, towering over him even from across the room and Jongdae sees darkness pooling at the god’s feet.   
“She comes back, coupling with the enemy. Your godhood can not protect everybody you favor in the brotherhood, little godling. You turned your back on the creed when you left and now you expect us all to cower before you. You might have aspired before any of us, but you have no power here.”

“You clearly miscalculated your own words here, master.”, Minseok mutters through gritted teeth, taking a step forward. Kyuhyun scurries away from between them, slipping from behind the table to stand where Minseok was leaning against one of the pillars leading out into the oasis’ garden.  “At least enough to rip your spine from your body and feed it to the vultures.”  
Jongdae sees several masters move then, some stepping backwards, some seeking the gazes of others as a nervous mutter runs through them all, a rippling wave that grows louder and pools around the silent ones amongst them. Jongdae sees Jongin wince, pressing a hand against the side of his head in pain, as if Minseok’s words were a slap across his face, Yixing already reaching out to him.   
And he sees Baekhyun, sitting rigid on his pillow, bottom lip between his teeth as he lets his gaze travel over all of them - slowly, calculated. Something moves inside of him, as if he’s drawn to the tension, ready to break like a dry twig.   
“I have proof!”, Junmyeon suddenly speaks up and the attention shifts again, all eyes again on the healer, who struggles to get up from his chair, held back by Joohyun’s hand around the nape of his neck and Seunghyun gesturing for him to stay put. 

“Then speak.”, Hangeng barks from his seat by Minseok’s side, pushing the god backwards with a hand on his chest so he can lock gazes with the healer. “Or do you enjoy the mayhem you have brought into your middle?”  
Junmyeon bites his lip then, shaking his head quickly as he tries to pull out of both Joohyun’s and the guardian's holds, but they both hold on him so tightly, he can barely move.   
“The person who wrote those letters spoke about several things regarding the brotherhood and I can repeat them all to you. Not even Joohyun should know about these things, seeing as she didn’t step foot into the temple for years, am I right?”  
“Yes.”, Hangeng nods slowly, leveling Junmyeon with a long, careful look. “Indeed.”  
The silence that spreads out in the room then is heavy, waiting and Junmyeon swallows audibly under the scrutiny, licking over his lips and clearing his throat several times.   
His voice is strong, though, when he finally says: “Through those letters I know that Baekhyun is now a master of the brotherhood and he seems to have gained the trust of several others, as well as the favor of one of your aspirants, Jongdae. I know that there are currently seven masters, close to obtaining the godhood you strive for, but there is one amongst you, who is about to awaken. The letter told the elders about the return of one of the gods, the only one still alive, as the paladins have hunted and killed all the others.”  
A pause, short and yet long enough for several voices to start whispering and hissing. Junmyeon breathes in again, tries to lift his chin a little higher but Joohyun’s hand in his nape presses him down again, forbidding him from baring his throat.   
“They spoke of the blind prophet you have, a man named Jongin who is to be kept alive, if one of the order ever encounters him. His powers would be of great value for the paladins. And that the murder of alchemist Hyorin of the Delta was doing of the brotherhood. You are too close to uncovering their plans to take over the riverlands, so they are planning on killing those, who are about to aspire. All seven masters who bear the marks of the god awakening inside of them are to be captured and beheaded. Without them you could never win a war against the order and… war it is they will bring upon you, should the master who wrote those letters fail to destroy you from the inside.”

“Were they signed? Those letters you’re speaking of?”, Hangeng asks and there is something in his voice that has Jongdae shifting, turning his head to look at their creed master, who sits there so calmly, as if he’s nothing but a rock in a chaotically moving sea of bodies and voices. 

“No.”, Junmyeon admits softly, not looking over at the man but up at Seunghyun. “Only with a rune I have never seen and couldn’t translate.”  
“Lies, I say.”, Jaejoong says venomously, ripping himself out of Sehun’s hold to turn his back to them, striding towards the door with angry steps. It’s Minseok, who stops him.   
“Will you not stay to hear the voiceless guardian’s judgement?”, the god asks and all snide is gone from his voice, left with nothing but pleasant lilts and something that seems close to amusement.   
“I will not stay to listen to us falling apart.”, Jaejoong hisses and pushes through the doors, that fall shut behind him with a thundering bang.   
Seunghyun steps back then, letting go of Junmyeon’s hand with a sigh, reaching out to touch the man’s forehead with two of his fingers, nodding slowly. The room erupts into angry shouts, then.   
The room falls quiet, as soon as Baekhyun enters, shoulders tense and hand tight around Junmyeon’s wrist. There are several people glancing their way, ducked low over their plates or leaned back on their pillows and it’s not the first time Baekhyun feels as if he has to pull his shoulders back more, has to stand taller and straighter.  And yet the tension seems to crackle louder than ever - the air even thicker around him than when he arrived at the desert temple, all eyes on him, waiting for him to misstep and fail. It never felt as if he would have to shield himself from their eyes, their gazes sharper than any dagger that could be hidden in the folds of their robes and tunics and long-flowing skirts. 

Some start whispering to each other when Baekhyun leads Junmyeon into the dining hall, holding his wrist securely between his fingers and he’s not sure if he’s holding on to Junmyeon so the man doesn’t turn on his heel to bolt, or if he is trying to protect him. Never before has the brotherhood felt like an enemy to him. Not like this.  Not even Jongdae’s looming, black form in the night of Teuk’s death felt quite like this.   
“Sit with us.”, a voice to his left rips him out of his thoughts and he glances over, meets Han’s eyes across the low, food laden table. The man seems oddly relaxed between all the drawn faces, the whispering voices, one of his feet propped up so he can rest his upper arm against the jut of his knee, fingers playing with a dried, sticky date. Baekhyun’s eyes flicker over to the high table, briefly.  But Jongdae just sits there, not looking his way from where he is bent into Joohyun’s side, whose eyes are on them, her lips drawn into a thin, white line. She looks stiff next to Jongdae and Minseok, fragile next to their strong, muscled forms and Baekhyun feels Junmyeon shift in his hold. 

“Sit.”, Han orders again, as if he can so easily read Baekhyun’s urge to reach out for Jongdae, to beckon him over to simply stride up to the aspirant’s table and sit next to him, there.   
It’s Junmyeon, who pulls him down onto the pillows opposite of Han, who gives him a smile that is entirely too pleasant, too smooth around the edges of his black-veined mouth.  There are bruises around his left temple, dark and harsh against his pale skin and Baekhyun catches his eyes lingering on them, notices Han cocking his head while his smile deepens into something Baekhyun doesn’t want to put a name on.   
“Well.”, Han suddenly says and pops the date into his mouth, clapping his hands with a loud, whip-like snap that seems to startle several masters sitting around them, turning their heads away hastily, caught. Junmyeon flinches with the sound, one of his shoulders drawing up before he clears his throat and echoes: “Well?”  
“You caused quite the ruckus, didn’t you?”, Han asks and he sounds all too conversational, a little too at ease in the middle of a room, nearly snapping with animosity. “Your words irked quite a few of…” He lets his eyes rest on Baekhyun for a moment, deliberate and taunting. “ _ Our  _ brothers and sisters.”  
“It was never my intention to anger the brotherhood.”, Junmyeon assures softly while hesitantly reaching for a wooden cup between them, pouring himself some of the lilac water, presented in a crystal pitcher. “I always considered myself a friend of the… the creed.”  
Someone snorts on Baekhyun’s right and he shoots a withering glare in the direction of the sound, but no other master along the table looks back at him, all of them intently turning their bodies away from them, eating in silence. Only Sehun looks at them with one raised eyebrow from where he sits trapped between Soojung and Jaejoong, both of them in deep, hushed conversation.   
“I doubt that  _ always  _ of yours.”, Han states and he sounds so nonchalant, so unimpressed, Baekhyun feels his fists balling on either side of his plate. “You are born a son of the sun, after all.”  
“So is Baekhyun.”, Junmyeon tells him easily, taking a sip from his water and scrunching his nose momentarily at the taste of the flowers floating in his cup.   
“Yet, you don’t seem to doubt his loyalty to the creed and the brotherhood. Or Jongdae, for that matter.”  
Han pauses for a moment, smacking his lips and then clicking his tongue while he points a finger at Baekhyun, who scoots back on his pillow, as if the finger was a weapon, aimed at his heart.   
“Who says we don’t? After all the information we gathered from your… confessions.”, Han prods and Baekhyun snarls silently at him, leaning forward into Han’s personal space across the narrow table.   
“I have proven my loyalty and my worth to the brotherhood several times, Han. And I never gave you-”  
“You turned your back on sacred vows once.”, Soojung suddenly says from where she’s perched on her pillow, sitting so straight, she seems to tower over several people sitting between them.   
Her face isn’t turned his way, but he catches her eyes, the dim light in the room throwing the shadows underneath them into relief.   
“So who says you are not going to turn on the vows you made for the brotherhood, as you did with the order? How can we trust a man who abandoned a holy task and traded it for the secrets of our creed?”   
People whisper then, in agreement and some in scandal, a few heads turning towards the high table, where Baekhyun sees both Minseok and Jongdae looking down at them, all conversations at the aspirant’s table ceased.   
“To doubt my loyalty would mean you doubt Jongdae’s trust in me. Do you doubt him, Soojung?”, Baekhyun asks back and she bares her teeth at him, her upper lip curling in anger and disgust.   
“A man can be blinded by someone willingly crawling into his bed and spreading their legs for him. I have killed several of those blind, stupid men by doing so. Nothing you say can wash away the evidence now, soldier of the order.”, she snaps and a loud bang rings through the dining hall, the crash of a palm against flat, polished wood. Baekhyun turns at the sound, eyes instantly falling onto Jongdae, but the man sits there between Hangeng and Joohyun as still as a statue, his chin raised while his lips slowly purse with an emotion Baekhyun doesn’t have a word for. 

He lets his eyes stray away from the familiar, beloved face then, searching for the source of the sudden noise, but stills when he hears Seungwan’s angry voice, dripping with venom.   
“I have enough of your spiteful words, Soojung.”, she hisses, pushing herself off the ground with both her hands on the table, her face so dark, Baekhyun feels sudden fear churn low in his stomach.   
“Say another word against my  _ haldae  _ and I will cut your rotten tongue out of your mouth, sister. You should know that there is no one as dedicated and true to the creed as our brother Jongdae and he does not give his trust easily. Not after what Taeyeon did to him.”  
“That’s enough, Seungwan.”, Jongdae speaks up calmly, but it does nothing to dampen her anger. Quite the opposite, what with the way she whips around to face him, her face as thunderous as the horizon outside, across the desert. And yet Jongdae doesn’t look angry, just tired and worn thin, Baekhyun thinks. It reminds of the nights spent together after he killed Jisoo, the way he scrubbed at his fingers to get rid of the blood until the skin around his fingernails had given way to the rough cloth and bitter soap.  He looks exhausted at the mere mention of his mistress, his shoulders sagging against the high-backed chair he is lounging in, fingers holding up his chin.   
“Speaking of which.”, Jaejoong quips, pushing away from Soojung’s hold when she reaches for him as if to stop him from speaking up in the matter at all. “Did Jongdae not spare the life of this very man sitting amongst us now, even though he was a sworn enemy of the brotherhood? Did he not do so, twice, if I remember correctly? He brought the enemy into our middle without hesitating.”  
“Who told you?”, Baekhyun asks sharply, gripping the edge of the table so tight, his knuckles are turning white underneath his skin. “About this?”  
“We all know.”, Jaejoong smirks at him, his face smoothed over with something close to victory. As if Baekhyun’s reaction gave away a secret Baekhyun didn’t even know he has to keep.   
“It is no secret to a single one of us, what happened between you two.”  
“You seem so sure of that.”, Jongdae replies slowly, cocking his head to the side while he blinks down at the other master, at the way Soojung’s hand is now gripping tightly around Jaejoong’s upper arm.   
“But was I obligated to kill him on both occasions? He was never my mission, never my target. So why should I have take a life that was not mine to kill?”

“The enemy-”

“You shall not kill for the sake of the blood.”, Jongin’s voice thunders through the room abruptly, strong and cold, filling every crevice and crack between the masters sitting in the dining hall, tense and waiting. “Your arm is my weapon, your hand my own. Strike a man and he shall be stricken by the power of the gods. Take what is necessary but none that is needless. For I bestow upon you my words of wisdom of life, that is precious and dear to all those who wander in the darkness. We are not justice, we are salvation.”  
When the prophet opens his white, unseeing eyes, they are trained onto Jaejoong, sitting ramrod straight on his pillow with his jaw tense and the sinews of his neck pulled taut, the masters around him shuddering with the weight of Jongin’s gaze resting on all of them, now.   
“All hope is lost if we take an innocent life, master Jaejoong.”, Jongin grits out and he seems bigger in his chair all of a sudden, towering even over Minseok on the opposite end of the table, his voice quiet and yet so loud, none of them dares to move, dares to breathe. “Kill them, if you must. Let them live, if you can. The order has taught us many lessons and we should teach them one of our own, as well. For we are not justice, we are salvation. Take a life and you spark nothing but the hunger for revenge and more blood. Who are you to judge Jongdae’s actions? Who are you to judge the creed?”  
Jaejoong shifts, only slightly and Jongin sighs, shaking his head as he turns his head away, reaching for his goblet to take a sip.   
  
“You are blind in your hatred. All of you.”

Minseok’s laughter cuts through the silence that follows, so low of a chuckle the room around Baekhyun seems to vibrate with it. It’s not a pleasant sound and for a moment he isn’t sure if he’s imagining it, for none of the others around him react to it, don’t even glance the god’s way.  
“Pieces in a game, nothing more.”, Minseok says then and this time, Baekhyun watches some of the masters wince, other’s baring their teeth. But some, even if they are few in number, leave the dining hall after that, turning their backs on the grinning, still chuckling god, who watches them leave with sparks dancing across his dark, dark eyes. 

 

The sun is nothing but a blur behind streaks of sandy clouds, pale light falling into the center garden of the temple, dancing over glittering water that murmurs softly through the canals in the ground.  
From where Baekhyun stands he can see the back of Jongin’s chair, the giant wheels on either side of his hips and the way the prophet sits leaned sideways, body turned to the left so he can listen closely to Junmyeon, who sits cross-legged on one of the stone benches scattered across the circular garden, hands playing with a branch of one of the herbal bushes growing in red patches all over the oasis. The healer has his eyes trained onto the tiny red leafs gliding through his fingers like velvet, shimmering against his skin like tears of blood.  Baekhyun breathes in, pushes himself off of the pillar he’s leaning against and strides across one of the bridges spanning across the canals, trying to keep his steps as silent as he can, but he can already see the way Jongin turns his head towards him, like a cat picking up on the sound of a mouse hiding in a pile of straw.   
“Joohyun always told me the temple is beautiful.”, Junmyeon says just loud enough for Baekhyun to hear and it seems like the end of a tale, told between friends. His tone is light, for once not tight with nerves and his posture on the bench is relaxed even when he lifts his head to look up at Baekhyun, confused as to why Jongin is silent in front of him.   
“Baekhyun.”, he greets with a small, sad smile and Baekhyun smiles back, tries to let the gesture reach his eyes despite how heavy his heart is. He woke up alone in Jongdae’s bed, after he crawled into it just as alone. The other side of the bed was cold when he stretches his arm out in search of Jongdae and the pillow was untouched as well.  
“Good morning, Jongin.”, Baekhyun says in lieu of greeting Junmyeon, who watches him almost wearily as he steps around Jongin’s chair and sinks onto the bench next to his friend, who scoots over just enough for them both to fit on the narrow seats.   
“Is it?”, Jongin asks and he sounds almost humored. “Morning, I mean. Time is a strange concept, when you can’t see the sun rising, Baekhyun.”  
“Oh.”, Baekhyun makes, biting down on his bottom lip, searching for something to say just as Jongin snorts and reaches out to pat his knee, missing just by a fraction and patting his hand instead with the tips of his slender, scarred fingers.   
“Junmyeon just told me some curious things.”, the prophet says and he sounds almost aloof, as if he can’t feel how tense Baekhyun is, sitting between them with his shoulders pulled up to his neck.   
“What exactly?”, he asks before he can stop himself and Junmyeon sucks in a breath, eyes flickering between the prophet and the man by his side, before he mutters :  
”I just told him… what the order teaches us about the brotherhood, that is all.”  
Jongin hums, then, leaning back against his chair and tipping his head back, face turned into the breeze that brushes through the garden, carrying the scent of lilacs and herbs.   
“Not only this.”, the prophet corrects him silently and Junmyeon’s face twists into discomfort. “It is curious for me to learn that you have never quite belonged there. Is it not like that, Baekhyun?”  
Baekhyun pauses, mouth already open to answer, but then he eventually gives back:  “Not really, no. And it seems I don’t belong here anymore, either.”  
“Nonsense.”, Jongin brushes his words away with a flick of his wrist, shaking his head only once. “Why are you under such an… idiotic impression? Because of what happened last night at supper?”  
“Jongdae-”, Baekhyun starts, once again cut off by the prophet’s gentle, all too quiet voice.   
“Deeply cares about you, brother.”, Jongin tells him tenderly, reaching out once more to wrap his fingers around Baekhyun’s knee, squeezing. “But he can not show it. You have to have a little more faith in the people around you, I think. Not everybody can wear their heart on their sleeve like you do, Baekhyun. Especially Jongdae.”  
“Because of Taeyeon?”, he snaps back, biting down on his tongue in shame when he sees Jongin cock his head as if he wants to flinch away from Baekhyun’s suddenly angered voice.   
There is a pause between them, heavy and uncomfortable and Baekhyun notices Junmyeon moving beside him, as if he’s not sure if he should get up and leave, or stay seated.   
“That, too.”, Jongin eventually replies, slowly and then turns to Junmyeon, pointing a finger at him.   
“Tell me, Junmyeon, was the weight of your knowledge and all the things you have seen not so heavy sometimes, you thought you couldn’t carry it? Did you ever fight with Joohyun because of the things she taught you about the world we are living in?”  
  
The healer sighs then, heavy and with a smile so small, it is barely lifting the corners of his mouth. 

“Occasionally, yes.”, he confesses then and Jongin nods, seemingly pleased with his answer. 

He lifts a shoulder, patting Baekhyun’s knee again before he says:   
“Change, Baekhyun, is something humans do struggle to accept. As is affection. We have scars on our souls and each person we meet adds new ones, purposefully or not. What have you added to Jongdae’s soul? Have you ever asked yourself this question?”  
“No.”, Baekhyun tells him, but then bites down on his bottom lip.   
  
What did he add to Jongdae’s soul? The question strikes him as odd, momentarily, even though the weight of Jongin’s unseeing gaze on him tells him that perhaps, he should have asked this question a little sooner.   
  
“He had to kill Jisoo because of me.”, he mutters then and Jongin breathes out a sigh, nodding sadly.   
“Yes. But he would have killed her sooner or later, anyway. With or without you, Baekhyun, Jisoo’s path in the brotherhood would have come to a violent end. I told Jongdae this when he brought her with him all those years ago. But is she not the second life Jongdae took instead of yours?”  
“I’m not sure if I should be-”, Junmyeon starts, cut off cold by Jongin’s eyes meeting his own.   
“Be there for a friend.”, Jongin says somberly, inclining his head towards Baekhyun in a curt nod. “So? What do you think, Baekhyun? You seem rather annoyed whenever Taeyeon is mentioned.”  
“Isn’t Jongdae just as annoyed?”  
“He is tired of it.”, Jongin confirms carefully. “But not annoyed. She left the greatest of marks on him. She was his mistress after all. She taught him about love and she taught him about loss. Hatred, even. And hatred, Baekhyun, is something that only grows out of devotion and disappointment.”  
“How can a man kill the woman he loves?”, Junmyeon suddenly asks when Baekhyun is silent next to him, staring down at his hands and the way Jongin clutches his knees. He thinks about the words exchanged between the prophet and Minseok that night in the baths, when Baekhyun began to realize what happened to Jongin. Hatred is something that grows out of devotion and disappointment.  
“Love is not always love, healer.”, Jongin explains and he sounds patient like a father, shaking his head almost in regret.   
“And sometimes it is neither good, nor is it just. We kill what destroys us and Taeyeon… It is not my place… and yet…”   
  
He sighs, runs a hand through his dark, silky hair that falls a little too long into his forehead and almost into his eyes. He looks soft, sitting there in the pale light of the sun, his skin still slightly tanned and his white eyes still bearing the hint of color underneath the white that scars across them.   
“When we speak of love, you clearly think of something else.”, Baekhyun tells Junmyeon, turning just so he can look up at his friend, who gazes back at him in confusion. “You love Joohyun and yet she never tried to destroy you, or who you are.” Jongin nods in front of them, slow and deliberate, before he says: “For her, Jongdae was never more than a token. A pawn in her game of power and control. I do not regret her parting from the brotherhood the way she did. She asked for it when she cut him open without a second thought. She should have seen it coming.”  
“So it is indeed normal to cut down your master.”, Junmyeon states with a frown and Jongin shoots him a look that is both puzzled and amused.   
“Not exactly, no. Sometimes. In Taeyeon’s case the only unusual thing is the _reason,_ if you ask me.”  
  
Jongin’s gaze is resting on Baekhyun now, a tiny smile playing around the corners of his mouth that lift just barely, making the apples of his cheeks rise to paint the white of his eyes crescent moons.   
It reminds him of the way Minseok sometimes looks at him and yet it is a gaze filled with a different kind of weight - a weight that pulls at Baekhyun’s heartstrings with something that lingers between them. Almost as if Jongin told him something that should have him bolting from his chair and into the temple, searching for Jongdae. And a part of him wants to - wants to run inside and close that chasm that has started to gape up between them. He stays seated, though, looking out into the garden and thinks that perhaps he has never really understood the world as much as he thought he did. When he turns back to the temple, he catches a movement between the pillars, two shadowy figures deeply in conversation. When Jongdae lifts his head, as if he felt Baekhyun’s eyes on him, there is a small smile on his lips and yet, it is sad. Heartbreakingly so. It is gone before Baekhyun can react, Jongdae’s attention turned back to Minseok, who grabs him by the upper arm and steers him into a corridor leading away from the gardens. The weight pulling Baekhyun’s heart down into his stomach grows heavier. 

 

“You are avoiding me.”, Baekhyun says as soon as he lets the curtain swing shut behind himself. 

Jongdae only half-turns towards him, perched on the edge of the patio leading out into the sands from his chambers.   
He looks startled, if only for a second, the crease between his raised eyebrows smoothing out in a matter of a single heartbeat.   
“What?”, he asks, shaking his head with an incredulous look. “No. Why would I?”  
“That’s what I wanted to ask.”, Baekhyun tells him sharply and leans against one of the wooden pillars holding the terrace up and off the ground. “Why  _ would  _ you avoid me after-”  
“I am not avoiding you.”, Jongdae cuts him off and he sounds almost angry. With himself, if Baekhyun knows Jongdae - and he does, he tells himself while pushing off the pillar and slowly approaching the other man, sinking down onto the rug beside him, folding his legs underneath himself. He knows Jongdae by now. Every twitch of his face when he’s angry or annoyed, the hard line around his mouth when there is something he wants to say but won’t. Baekhyun has studied the assassin almost as much as he has studied the creed, the fighting techniques and prayers they taught him.  And Jongdae doesn’t move, not even unconsciously, towards him.  He does, most of the time. Even if he doesn’t notice it himself, Jongdae always leans towards him when they sit together, lets their knees brush or their fingers touch while they sit in silence. 

He doesn’t, now.

Jongdae just sits there, looking out into the desert with his bottom lip between his teeth, gnawing on the skin until he lets go of it with a pop, sighing without making a sound, only his shoulders shaking with the exhale.   
“What makes you think I am?”, he asks eventually, but he sounds defensive, drawn away from Baekhyun in a way he never has before. “With what is going on right now, I am a busy man. I can’t cater to your every wish, Baekhyun. Did you think just because…” He pauses, shakes his head at himself and runs a hand through his too-long hair. “Just because we-”  
“I was never your damsel in distress.”, Baekhyun tells him sternly and Jongdae rolls his eyes.  It is a motion a lot more natural for the man by his side than the silence between them and finally, Jongdae locks eyes with him. There are dark shadows underneath his eyes, blue and purple lines webbing away from the corners and across his temples and Baekhyun catches himself holding his breath, nearly flinching away from the sight.   
Jongdae looks like something out of a nightmare like this - his eyes so dark there is hardly any white left in them, veins spanning across his skin from his mouth as well, the light of the dying sun throwing orange fire across his skin and painting shadows into the hollow of his throat, underneath his sharp cheekbones and across his chiseled jaw. And there is something in his eyes, cutting across Baekhyun’s own face and up to his eyes in quick succession, that is almost amused.  Knowing.

“Jongdae”, Baekhyun starts and reaches out on a whim, touching his fingers to the purple on the other’s temple so softly, the touch is barely there. And yet Jongdae inclines his head to the side, lets him touch the skin there that seems to pulse in time with his heartbeat, as if his skin is as thin as paper and Baekhyun wants to cut Jongdae’s shirt open suddenly, wants to see if he can look at his heart through his ribcage and muscles.   
“I want you to leave.”, Jongdae says suddenly and the moment - this strangely tender, silent moment between them - pop open like foam on soapy water. He reels back at the words, as if Jongdae struck him across the face, opening his mouth around an angry “what?”.   
But Jongdae looks at him, hard and unwavering, repeating slowly: “I want you to leave the temple.”  
“You’re sending me away? And where am I supposed to go?”, Baekhyun hisses and Jongdae rolls his eyes again, blowing air from his slightly puffed out cheeks, as if he’s talking to a petulant child instead of a grown man, someone he should trust. “The brotherhood is my home now! You can’t-”  
“Baekhyun.”, Jongdae stops him with a raised hand, grasping his wrist to halt the sudden flood of words streaming from his mouth. “I am not telling you to leave forever. But I need you out of here, if only for a couple of days.”  
“And why is that?”, Baekhyun snaps, ripping his hand away from Jongdae’s touch, no matter how loudly his heart screams at him to reach out and touch more. He feels starved for the other’s touched, all of a sudden, as if all these days spent apart has left him desperate for just a fraction of a touch.  Jongdae hesitates then, drawing in a deep breath that has his shoulders rising. He furrows his eyebrows, teeth pulling his bottom lip back into his mouth. '  
  
“Jongdae.”, Baekhyun urges and finally, after several seconds of Jongdae just looking at him, the other man breaks away from his eyes, looking back out across the desert. He slowly moves them, letting his right hand that was resting on his lap while they were talking fall away from his stomach and Baekhyun sees blood clinging to his palm, to the space between his fingers.  
“Are you hurt?”, he gasps, already scrambling to his knees to reach for Jongdae, who quickly holds out his hand and shakes his head.   
“No. I’m not. It’s nothing. A scratch, nothing more. But it could have been more, if I hadn’t paid attention.”  
“What happened?”, Baekhyun asks and despite Jongdae’s soft noise of protest he reaches out and pulls the man’s hand away from his stomach, looking at the blood spread into his tunic. It’s not much and the skin below the rip in the fabric has already stopped bleeding.   
  
“Jongdae, what happened?”

“What was bound to happen.”, Jongdae tells him with a grunt, slapping his hand away when Baekhyun presses the pads of his fingers into the shallow cut. It’s not an angry gesture, but it is enough for Baekhyun to sit back on his haunches with narrowed eyes.   
“Two apprentices got into a fight over their masters, today.”, Jongdae finally says, as if he knows Baekhyun won’t let it go unless he tells him. He looks livid, momentarily, hissing through his teeth when he says:   
“They are starting to point fingers at each other for every single thing, now. We are not a unity anymore. We are animals, caged together in this temple, accusing each other. It is bound to come to a fight, sooner or later.”  
“You want me to leave so nobody attacks me.”, Baekhyun realizes suddenly and Jongdae snorts.   
“You can hold you own.”, he disagrees silently and the small admission has Baekhyun feeling bubbly inside, despite the matter at hand.   
There is still something so terribly proud swinging along in Jongdae’s words, whenever he tells Baekhyun he is an assassin, now.   
“But I can’t, if you are too close to me. You distract me, Baekhyun. I was distracted as well, today. And if it would have been masters attacking each other and not students, it would be far worse than just a scratch.”

“You would stop them, if they challenge each other?”

Jongdae looks up at him, a frown etched into the lines around his mouth, mouth open as if he wants to speak, but then he closes it again with a huff. There is a pause that Baekhyun doesn’t want to fill, not when he knows that Jongdae will answer him, eventually. When he is ready to do so.  
“What good is there in us killing each other?”, Jongdae asks silently, but the words are not directed at Baekhyun, not really. “There might be a traitor amongst us and yet we are our own worst enemy. Accusing and fighting won’t help anybody but the order itself. An assassin’s strength is the brotherhood. The creed’s strength is the assassin. Divided as we are….? We are nothing but a feast for the order. Now they truly destroy us from the inside out. Just as the paladin said.”

“Changmin?”

Jongdae lifts a shoulder. “I never paid attention to his name. I was busy not dying.”

Baekhyun clicks his tongue, but he catches the slight smile curling at the corners of Jongdae’s mouth regardless.   
They spent another few moments sitting in silence then, side by side while the sky darkens and the world becomes nothing but shades of blue and grey.   
“We are those who walk in darkness, Baekhyun. There is no friend out there, but ourselves.”  
  
Baekhyun wants to disagree with that, knows that perhaps Jongdae disagrees too and for the first time since he met the man, he wonders why he keeps looking out across the desert, as if he is waiting for something.   
He always looks out towards the west and sometimes Baekhyun catches himself wondering, what could be out there worth looking at. 


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DOUBLE UPDATE PLEASE READ CHAPTER ELEVEN
> 
> I think this chapter is a little shorter than the one before? I'm not sure.   
> I wrote this entire story without chapters, so I have to cut it as we go.   
> We learn a little bit more about the assassins in this one, actually? At least that's what I think  
> There is a lot or lore behind all of this - and this lore is purely inside my head. If you have questions about this universe, don't hesitate to ask me!   
> Enjoy <3

Jongin'a hands look brittle where they are resting on his lap, holding a scroll of paper, but his eyes are alight with something strangely skeptical, his lips pressed together into a thin line even when Baekhyun sinks into a chair in front of the prophet, holding out his hands. He hesitates, almost as if he doesn’t want to hand the letter over, but when he does, the movement is quick - like he wants to be rid of it.   
“A weapon smith.”, Jongin tells him curtly, voice hard and defensive. “We paid him good money to make the best of weapons for the brotherhood, but he used that money to buy slaves from the merchant Zhoumi.”, he tells Baekhyun while he unrolls the letter, eyes flickering over hastily scribbled runes, a wax seal with the brotherhoods signet on the bottom of the scroll.   
“Two children. Our informations are lacking, but he has enough knowledge to cut our weapon supply off completely.”  
“I will go and see if I can find out more.”, Baekhyun nods softly and Jongin scoffs.   
“I thought you’d go and kill him.”, the prophet tells him and he sounds close to snapping. Baekhyun shoots him a look, aware that Jongin can’t see him, but the prophet is looking back at him with angrily furrowed brows and pursed lips.   
“That too, if the accusations are true.”, he simply says, getting up from his chair.  Jongin’s hand around his wrist stops him, though, pulling him back until he is standing right in front of the other assassin, Jongin’s white, scarred over eyes boring into his. “Baekhyun, be careful with your actions, out there. Where you are going… none of those who have been sent there ever returned. We already lost two of our own out there.”

“I will be careful.”, Baekhyun promises him softly and Jongin shakes his head harshly.   
“You don’t understand. There is something moving in the west and I fear it is the order, already closing in on us. Do not linger there for too long, brother. Do not reveal your identity, if you can prevent it.”  
“When did I ever-”  
“You’re a master of the creed, yes, but you are untrained when it comes to being secretive.”, Jongin says and grips his wrist a little tighter. “In the mountain realms, we do not have power like we do in the Delta, Baekhyun. You will have to be careful. There will be a brother waiting for you in the outpost, but you will be on your own. There is no one to ask a favor from, there.”   
“I will be just fine.”, Baekhyun answers him, trying to make his voice stable and hard like he learned from Jongdae. And yet his insides are churning and twisting with something achingly close to fear. 

Two of them, already lost there.  A part of him wishes he could stay here, be with Jongdae in these dreadful times of treason and death - but he knows he can’t be.   
Not when Jongdae is so horribly adamant on sending him away on a mission. To get him out of the temple. 

“Does Jongdae-”

“He doesn’t know where I am sending you.”, Jongin replies before Baekhyun has even finished his question and he breathes in sharply, wanting to step away from the prophet suddenly for a reason he can’t understand. There is something in his voice, in the way he looks at Baekhyun, that has his heart clenching and fear curling around his stomach.   
“But I need someone out there, who I can trust, Baekhyun.”, Jongin adds quietly, letting go of his hand then. He slumps back in his chair, eyes fluttering closed and shoulder sagging. He looks as if he’s in pain, one of his hand coming up to cradle the side of his head. He twists his head to the side, nose scrunched up as his lips open around a sound that is more animal than human. A snarl, silent and yet dangerous and this time, Baekhyun steps away from him.   
“You have to go, now.”, Jongin suddenly says, waving a hand at him. “There is no time to spare for long goodbyes. Promise me you won’t tell anybody, where you are going.”  
“I promise.”, Baekhyun hears himself answer even though his mind hasn’t quite caught on to the other man’s words. Jongin nods then, still slumped back in his chair, his eyes still closed. 

“Go.”

And Baekhyun turns on his heel, fleeing the room too fast for him to see the curling shadows wrapping themselves around Jongin’s chair, crawling from a crack in the wall behind the prophet.  But he feels something linger on his skin even when the door slams shut behind him, as he all but sprints down the corridor, the letter with the wax seal clutched in his hand so tightly, he feels the wax breaking apart between his fingers. 

 

Jongdae is already waiting for him by the side entrance of the temple, stroking a tender hand down the neck of a pitch black horse, already saddled and prepared and he doesn’t look up at Baekhyun even when Baekhyun grabs him by the shoulder and turns him around, stabbing a finger into his chest. “You really can’t wait to get me out of there.”  
“No.”, Jongdae replies easily, wrapping a hand around the fingers poking into his chest. “But you will understand why, sooner or later. I already prepared every-”  
“I see that.”, Baekhyun tells him with a hiss and Jongdae’s eyebrows shoot up on his forehead.   
“Baekhyun, I-”, he starts, cutting himself off before he says: “You will return to me.”  
“I always have.”, Baekhyun says quietly, swinging himself up into the saddle. He knows if he kisses Jongdae goodbye, there won’t be a turning back. If he tells Jongdae goodbye, he won’t go.   
Farewell means they won’t reunite and Baekhyun can’t have his heart breaking, not now.   
“Even if you didn’t want me to, I always returned to you.”  
“You did.”, Jongdae smiles and it’s sad, the curl of his lips. His eyes, even. “Perhaps I should have killed you, all those years ago. To be rid of you, like you say."  
“Well.”, Baekhyun shoots back with a grin too wide to be truthful. “Perhaps you should have, Jongdae. So we wouldn’t have to say goodbye like this.”  
Jongdae scoffs then, just an exhale through his nose and it could be a laugh, if not for the sad smile still stretching his lips into that arch Baekhyun realizes he has been in love with for far too long.   
“Goodbye is always a start for something else.”, Jongdae eventually says, letting go of the horses reins and stepping back, just when Baekhyun reaches out to touch him.   
Don’t die, he wants to tell Jongdae. Be careful please, he wants to say. Instead, he grins a little brighter, trying to breathe through the pain in his chest when he presses his heels into the horses flank, calling out to Jongdae:   
“You will miss me.”

And Jongdae only grins back, the hint of a smirk across his mouth that is still streaked with purple and blue, spider-like webs across his face. The horse leaps forward, but he still hears the other man mutter: “Maybe I will.”

 

_ Follow the sun as it wanders across the sky, follow its arch into the desert. _

The handwriting on small slip of paper wrapped into the letter is unfamiliar to him, elegant in a way he has never seen anybody write ever before. It’s arks and bows, all soft lines and hard points, written with deep black ink and a fine feather tip. It almost seems like a woman’s writing to Baekhyun, as he squints down at it and then into the white of the desert, shielding his eyes from the blinding sun, reflected back at him from an endless sea of dunes. The directions speak of the ruins Baekhyun passed on his first trip through the desert, far on the horizon even long after the temple has vanished behind him, not even to be adumberateble behind him. He is so far out in the desert, the world seems to him as if it’s nothing more than yellow, whites and blue, so brilliant is it blinding. 

Perhaps it is the farthest he has ever been from home until now, he thinks while he steers his horse into the shadow of one of the crumble walls, slipping out of the saddle with an ache settled so deeply inside his bones, he feels as if he might be breaking apart in the middle. It’s high noon, now, the shadows of the ruins long and black against the sand and he leans against the cool stone, wiping at his forehead before pulling his scarf off his hair, dabbing away the sweat that has gathered in his neck and across his chest, soaking through his traveling robes. He has been here before, on their night after their escape from the city, curled up against Junmyeon’s side during the bitter cold of the darkness, knowing Jongdae’s eyes are resting on him, watching him as he sleeps. He wonders, sometimes, if Jongdae watched him sleep more than once, in those endless nights when sleep didn’t come easy for the man. 

And he wonders, more often, what these buildings might have been, as he wanders across the small patch of stone that spans out between the walls and pillars, square where the pillars of the temple’s Baekhyun is used to are round and softly shaped. There is a fountain in the middle of the ruins, still bubbling with water and Baekhyun splashes his face with it, rubs it into his hair and refills his waterskin after rinsing his mouth from the grains of sand he breathed in during his ride out here.  And still the buildings around him seem so foreign to him, like nothing he has ever seen.  He’s been across the sea once, with his first master who took him to the kingdom far beyond the narrow of the sea between their continents and Baekhyun remembers being at awe of their high buildings, of their colored glass and armors. These ruins, though, seem to him as if they were built by something so much older than the world itself as he trails his fingers over ridges in the rough stones, into the gaps between them so his fingertips come away white with the remnants of plaster as white as the salt of the northern sea. There are still faint traces of windows, high and arked at the tip, the wood slowly turning to sand under the unforgiving winds of the desert.  He wonders if there was glass there, if it was as colorful as the glass of the churches he has seen while traveling with his master. And he can’t help but to ask himself, if this desert around them used to be something else. Something, that was not filled with heat and death as it is now.  He shakes his head at himself - at his thoughts - as he swings himself back into the saddle and steers his horse out of the shadows and back into the blinding sunlight, onwards to the southwest. 

_ Follow the sun as it journeys across the sky. And you shall find me again.  _

 

The nights in the desert are so cold, Baekhyun hears his teeth rattle, his clothes damp as he wraps them around himself as tightly as he can, leaning back into his horse’s flank where it rests behind him, snuffling through the sand at the foot of a dune, nipping at his cloak from time to time.  The small fire in front of him does nothing to warm his skin, but it is enough to boil the water and then him from the inside out, his waterskin bloating with steam before he pulls it away from the side of the fire, warming his hands on the smooth outside.  He doesn’t know if he misses Jongdae for his warmth at night, or if it’s the gnawing feeling inside of him that has him longing for the other by his side. A part of him knows he shouldn’t have left - not when there is nothing but chaos he leaves behind in the wake of Junmyeon’s revelation.  But something pulls him forward ever since he left the ruins behind, onward towards the west. As if someone tied a string around his middle and is pulling him away from the temple, away from the knowledge that there might be bloodshed, might be destruction behind him that he will never know of.

Will he return to ruins like they stand in the middle of the desert? 

Or will he return to the temple burning to the ground, nothing but blackened stones and white bones left for him to come home to? When he slips away into sleep, he dreams of Minseok’s laughter echoing through the dining hall, of Jongdae’s bloody palm and his own hands, drenched in the blood of a paladin. 

 

The miles melt away under the hooves of his horse, the sun always in front of Baekhyun as he pushes his horse faster and faster still, eager to cover as much distance as he can before the sun sets, before he can think of the storm brewing on the horizon behind him.  And soon the dunes smooth out into a steppe, thick with yellow grass and sandy hills, crippled trees protruding from the ground in the distance like hands reaching up into the sky above them.   
There are mountains in the distance, tipped with snow and glittering with eyes and Baekhyun imagines he can see little twisted towers at the side of the mountain, just where it seems as if a giant’s fist ripped half of the mountain, leaving behind a ragged cliff, grey stone against a white and blue sky.  It’s still far away, but the heat is more bearable here, after two nights and days in the desert, his skin blistering along his forearms and his knuckles, red with sunburn.  There are villages dotted across the ground by the mountain, along it’s roots and in the shadow of it, nestled into the nooks of the cliffs where the stone spreads out low into the steps.   
It must be nice living here, Baekhyun thinks to himself while he slows his horse until they are trotting along the earthen path smoothed out between the hills, spreading out from the nearest village like small rivers of lighter color in the ground. The air feels lighter in his lungs, almost refreshing and Baekhyun breathes in deeply, wishing for a couple of heartbeats that he would be living here, too.  
Then again, he muses to himself as he passes the first small barnyard, a man in the front hacking away at dry dirt. He would miss the temple and the desert. It is familiar to him, by now.    
This - the colors and the air, the flowers and tall grasses growing here - are alluring and yet foreign in a way that has him almost shying away from it in fear. There is something dangerous about the beauty too, as if the mountain looming over everything is the eye’s of the gods.  And he feels watched, as he rides towards the village. 

 

“I am looking for the money-lender.”, Baekhyun says and the small, wrinkly woman in front of him frowns, her already creased face pulling into lines so deep, there are shadows gathering in them.   
“The money-lender?”, she asks back and Baekhyun feels like running a hand down his face in exasperation. He nods, trying to keep the smile on his face, even though it hurts his sunburned cheeks. The woman hums, swaying her head from one side to the other, stomping her cane down into the dirt of her small soup stall, the bubbling pot next to her whistling silently.   
“There is a money-lender, down the road in the settlement to the west.”, she says eventually, chewing on something and then spitting out the shells of sunflower seeds into the dust between them. “But lad, you should not seek the company of men who deal with money. You don’t look like a poor fellow.”  
“I’m not.”, Baekhyun forces himself to reply with a smile that is growing tight around the edges. “I have an urgent message for him. Can you tell me the way, good granny?”  
The old woman hums again, her eyebrows furrowing and the lines deepening around her mouth as he regards him with a long, hard stare. Her dark eyes are flickering across his face, down to his tunic and black cloak, to the sash tied around his middle where he hides his dagger. They linger on the red fabric for a moment too long and then there is a spark of recognition dancing across her features.   
Baekhyun shifts, nervously clutching the reins of his horse to keep it close and still, but the woman only pops a couple more seeds into her mouth and chews, the shells crunching loudly between her yellowed, crooked teeth.   
“Can’t miss it, lad.”, she answers him eventually, spitting out into the space between them again. “Biggest house of the settlement. Lots of windows with red blinds. He’s a tall man, black hair like yours. Creepy fellow, lad. You should stay away from him.”  
“Thank you.”, Baekhyun only says and bows his head, turning to swing himself into the saddle again, when the woman halts him with a call, knocking her cane onto the lid of her pot to get his attention.  
He pauses, half on top of his horse already, but he cranes his neck back to see her pointing the cane onto his sash, jabbing it into his direction a couple of times.   
“You, lad, should be careful with that. Mistress Red does not condone the likes of you in her kingdom.”  
“Who?”, he asks, puzzled, but the woman waves him away with an impatient hand, muttering:  
“Got to get back to my soup. Strangers and their questions. No good, no good.”  
Baekhyun shakes his head then, sighing to himself while he swings up into the saddle, clicking his tongue to get his horse moving again, but he can’t help but feel as if there are eyes watching him, out of narrow passages between the houses, from behind the counters of stalls along the way. 

 

It is indeed the biggest house in the settlement, countless windows on the upper floor, all tightly shut with red wooden blinds just as the woman told him. And yet, despite towering over all the other buildings in the village, it is a simple house, almost humble. There are horse stables by the side of it, a single white mare in one of the boxes, lifting her head when Baekhyun approaches to tie his horse to one of the wooden bars on the far wall, making sure the water bucket is filled in front of it before he turns to leave and walk around the house towards the simple wooden door, also painted in splintering red paint, stark against the white of the chalked walls.   
He enters without knocking, finding himself in a room with a ceiling so low he could stretch out his arm to reach it, several wooden beams running from one side of the room to the other. The room itself is just as humble as the outside of the house, clean but sparsely furnished. A wooden counter sits by the left wall, but aside from that there seems to be hardly any furniture. Only one door, Baekhyun notes while letting his eyes travel across the room, nearly missing the figure standing in the door behind the counter, hands clasped behind their back.  He startles, turning to the side with his foot sliding easily across the clean floor, hand almost reaching for the dagger in his sash before he realizes that the man standing there is just looking at him with his head leaned to the side, a shadow shrouding his features in darkness.   
“Ah.”, the man makes, sounding amused, but he doesn’t move, only letting his head tip to the other side. “You must be the brother from the desert temple then? I did not expect you so soon.”  
“You knew I was coming?”, Baekhyun asks carefully and the man waves a hand, stepping forward into the candlelight that falls in streaks across the room from several spots in the room.   
The man hums as he takes another step, leaning onto the counter with his forearms so he is looking straight at Baekhyun’s face, who still stands in the middle of the room with his hand on his belt, ready to draw his weapon, if he has to.   
Is this what the order did to them? To the brotherhood? He should trust a member of the creed, not doubt them and fearing an attack, even in a foreign land. He tries to relax, tries to let go of the handle between the folds of his sash, but he can’t. Not yet.   
  
“Of course I know. Even though I have to admit I am very surprised the temple sends me one of their own. Why are you here, exactly?”, the man asks him slowly, drumming long fingers against the countertop, eyes never Baekhyun’s face.   
“I was sent here on a mission I can not disclose to you.”, Baekhyun snaps back and the man suddenly grins, his eyes shaping into soft, almost pleasant crescents.   
“You sound like a brother of mine.”, he tells Baekhyun loftily, straightening before he adds: “The branch of assassin’s living here will not take lightly to one of us poaching on their lands, I fear. If you are here on behalf of a kill, you have to ask them for permission.”  
He pauses, a grin spreading across his lips that has nothing left of the pleasant smile just seconds before. Baekhyun watches, wearily, as the man rolls his shoulders, wetting over his lips before speaking again and when he does, he sounds nearly mischievous: “I can arrange a meeting with one of their own, but that comes with a price.”   
“You would ask a member of your own brotherhood to pay for something that is a necessity to their cause? What are you?”, Baekhyun hisses and the man pauses, blinks, before bursting out into laughter.    
“Life comes with a prize, brother.”, he waves at Baekhyun, arching an eyebrow. “So?”

“What do you want?”

The man hesitates for a moment, reaching for something hanging around his neck, closing his fingers around what seems to be a pendant hidden underneath his wide, white tunic.   
“If you are from the desert temple, do you happen to know a woman named Seungwan?”  
“You are Chanyeol.”, Baekhyun states and watches the other’s eyebrows crease, a confused little smile flickering across his face and Baekhyun hurries to clarify: “I heard her talking about you.”  
“Is she well?”, the other asks, ignoring the mention of his name altogether. He seems tense, standing there with his hand around the thing underneath his shirt, eyes flickering back and forth between Baekhyun’s own. They aren’t nearly as black as they could be, he realizes. Dark, but not entirely black - a hint of brown left in them, even.   
“She is well.”, Baekhyun nods slowly and then asks: “So what is your prize?”  
“That was my prize. The answer to a question nobody else would answer.”, Chanyeol shrugs easily and beckons him forward with a flick of his wrist. “Now come. You must be tired. I will pour a bath for you before sending word to the assassin’s that you need to speak to them on the behalf of the creed. Who sent you, again?”  
“Prophet Jongin.”, Baekhyun answers without pause and Chanyeol frowns, if only for a moment.   
“The note I got, informing me of your arrival, did not bear the signet of the prophet.”, he tells Baekhyun and he sounds hesitant, almost testing. But still he waves Baekhyun forward again, through the door behind the counter and he follows the taller man up a narrow staircase, into an even narrower hallway. “I will send word to them, but it will take at least a day for them to decide if you will be called up the mountain, or not.”, Chanyeol says while pushing him through a door on the right and into a room with a wooden bathtub and not much else.  I don’t have that much time, Baekhyun wants to snap, wants to grab Chanyeol by the lapels of his tunic and shake him, until the man tells him where to go and who to talk to in order to complete his mission. He needs to go back to the temple, needs to go back to Jongdae. 

And yet, he knows he can’t.

“I know it is inconvenient.”, Chanyeol sighs, watching Baekhyun’s face before turning away to leave him alone to undress.   
“But you are in another tribe’s territory. We do not mess with the rules, here. I will heat the water for you. You might as well bathe and eat while we wait.”

 

The sun seems to be moving slower here, Baekhyun muses while he looks out across the small, square garden behind the money-lender’s house, wedged into the space between three other buildings. There are vines climbing up the walls, hanging low with flowers and fruit Baekhyun has never seen before, a dovecote nestled into the far corner. They are red, shaped like tiny thorns and yet they move in the hint of a breeze that whispers through the garden behind Chanyeol’s house. There is something to this plant that is almost like the lands itself - breathtakingly beautiful and yet dangerous, the shadow of the mountains above swallowing the light sooner than it would vanish in the desert. And he almost misses it - no, he corrects himself with a wistful smile, he  _ does  _ miss it - the panes of sand, the soft and gentle hills of the dunes. He even misses the heat, shivers with the cold of an evening painted in pale reds and pinks that fall across white chalked walls.   
  
“Tomorrow.”, Chanyeol tells him with a sigh as he sinks down into the low seat across from Baekhyun, holding out a slip of paper to him. He hesitates, studying Chanyeol’s expression carefully until the man shrugs and drops the paper into the space between two plates overflowing with food.  It’s a simple supper for the both of them. Loaves of thick bread, soft cheese made of goat milk and kinds of vegetables Baekhyun has never eaten raw before. Chanyeol seems unbothered by it though, reaching for the pieces to plop them into the mouth after scooping up some of the plain yogurt he placed in a bowl between them. He moves with grace, despite his long limbs and endless fingers, each of his knuckles tattooed with a rune, shaping a word that seems oddly familiar to Baekhyun, even if he doesn’t recognize the runes quite yet. 

“Salvation.”, Chanyeol suddenly says and Baekhyun startles, ripping his gaze away from where it lingered on the other’s hands. “The old word for it. A reminder for myself to never again overstep the boundaries of the brotherhood.”

“You’re from the desert temple.” 

It’s not a question, rather a statement that hangs between them for a couple of moments before Chanyeol exhales a sad little sound and drops his bread, leaning back into his chair with the cup of wine he poured earlier held between the tips of his long fingers. “What makes you think that?”  
“Seungwan.”, Baekhyun shrugs as an answer, pointing to the pendant around the other’s neck and then adding softly: “And you talk like them. You move like them. I… know the desert clan.”  
“Do you?”, Chanyeol asks him and his voice sounds sharp for a second, before he closes his eyes and breathes in deeply. “Nobody ever knows the desert clan, Baekhyun. The power that runs through the grounds of the ever moving sands is too great to not leave a mark on each of us who are shaped there. But yes, I am…  _ was…  _ one of them.”  
It sounds private, the way Chanyeol corrected himself, as if he doesn’t quite remember the fact himself. He looks sullen, gazing out into the garden with a longing written across his face that would be heartbreaking, if it weren’t so sad. Baekhyun chews, swallows the bit of soft cheese in his mouth and then slowly asks: “Is it your child? Seungwan’s?”  
“Yes.”, Chanyeol tells him without hesitating even for a heartbeat. “And the reason I left. She was not mine to touch and yet I did. So they sent me away. I… was found before I could do any harm.”  
  
“By who?”

Their gazes meet, Baekhyun suddenly holding his breath at the hard, scrutinizing look Chanyeol gives him, eyebrows drawn together and eyes narrowed underneath long, black lashes.   
“Don’t you know it already?”, he asks silently and places his cup back onto the table. He doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t add another question and so Baekhyun stays mum as well, following Chanyeol’s eyes into the garden when the man turns his head. They linger on the tree of thorns again, branches hanging low with what seems to be white peaches that glitter in the sunlight like fiery tears.   
“Tell me.”, Chanyeol suddenly says, still not looking at Baekhyun but at the wandering shadow of the sunset, slowly shrouding the garden in darkness. “Did you ever… have a reason to do what others might consider wrong but is the right thing in the end?”  
Never, Baekhyun wants to answer, but halts in his tracks, mouth closing without a sound leaving it.   
Did he not leave the order for something bigger? To save his own life, he thinks with a grimace, not because he had a reason to believe in something other than what he was taught his entire life.   
“I don’t think so.”, he answers truthfully after chewing on his bottom lip and Chanyeol smiles to himself, shaking his head softly before pressing his lips together tightly.   
“You’ll have a reason, as do I. One day, if you don’t already have one.”, the other man mutters and together they sit in silence until the sun sets and the garden falls into shadows so deep, not even the flowers shine anymore.   
The world is gray in the absence of light. 

 

There is a path winding up the side of the mountain so narrowly, there is barely enough room to walk without bumping into the stone, rubbing harshly across his cloak and tearing at the material with every step he takes. He can still see Chanyeol at the bottom of the path, lounging in the seat of a small barrow, feet propped up on the edge of it while he’s leaned back against a stack of straw.  Baekhyun has to go up the mountain on his own, the other assassin told him with a smile that held too much meaning. As if climbing up there would make him better a man, Baekhyun thought when he saw it, feeling like a child standing before their father. It’s a steep path, smooth from thousands of feet wandering across it and Baekhyun slips while turning the first corner, barely catching himself on the wall to his left. The sun is still nothing but a thought on the horizon, slowly paling the sky in a wash of yellow and white, the blue slowly fading and yet the tip of the mountain Baekhyun can barely make out from where he is walking, is already bathed in light. He can already see a banner blowing in the wind even from the bottom of the path and it looks so close, he almost feels as if he can hold out his hand and touch it - a red wing fluttering against the backdrop of the sky.  With a sigh he pushes onward, adjusting the drawstrings of his cloak and the scarf around his neck as the wind picks up, blowing so strong it is ripping at his hair and stinging in his eyes, growing colder seemingly with every step he takes forward. It seems endless, this path Chanyeol sent him on, winding higher and higher until he can barely see the grass below. There is only the vast span of the tundra before him, patched with dark spots of trees and fields. Somewhere by the edge of the mountain, there is a river glowing in the rising sunlight, throwing sparks across Baekhyun’s vision. 

It’s breathtaking, as everything seems to be out here. 

The higher he climbs, the smaller the world seems and yet at the same time he thinks he never really understood how big it really is. He can see the webs of streets down there, can even make out the faint beginning line of the desert, it’s dunes and hills in the distance - and he wonders if Jongdae is looking out across it too, right now. If he is looking at Baekhyun from where he sits on his terrace, feet dangling above the sand just a couple of inches. The west, he thinks to himself while standing at the edge of a cliff that falls straight down into a misty abyss right at the tips of his shoes, hand pressed against his forehead to shield his eyes from the glare of the snowy light behind him.   
Oh, if only he could look far enough to see Jongdae from where he stands right now. Look into his eyes just once, to know he is still there and not dead and gone and to be forgotten by the world.   
“Assassin.”, a voice behind him suddenly calls and Baekhyun flinches, spins around so fast he thinks he might slip over the edge of the cliff. But he catches himself, takes a quick step forward and away from the danger looming behind him, squinting up at the silhouette of a woman standing just above him, seemingly at the end of the path he followed.   
“Are you the one they call Baekhyun?”, she asks and her voice rings out clear across the snow and stone, thrown back towards the both of them from the mountains surrounding them.   
“I am.”, he nods, slowly walking towards him as she watches with curious, dark eyes. She’s small, perhaps just as tall as Baekhyun is but from an obvious strength. Despite the cold wind up here, her arms are bare, showing black ink against her skin and defined, sinewy muscles.   
“They call me Jieun. “, the woman says as soon as he is close enough for her to not have to raise her voice, bowing her head only shortly before pivoting on her heel and starting down the rest of the way, now running in slight curves across a plane of nearly white stone, leading towards another mountain wall, rising into the sky. There are windows hammered into the stone, doors in strange patterns and broken intervals, following no apparent pattern and yet it is strangely impressive to see.  It’s a temple, carved directly into the stone and Baekhyun finds himself staring.  At first it seemed to him as if the temple is nestled in a gween the stone walls towering high above them, but the closer he gets, the clearer he can see that it is truly build from the mountain itself. Shaped from the walls, deep into the stone.   
“It is not often a member of your clan finds their way to the mountains.”, Jieun suddenly says in front of him and shoots him a look over her shoulder, the inked lines above her forehead lifting and creasing while she regards him with a long, questioning look. “How is the desert? Still as dry and bleak as it ever was?”  
She sounds almost condescending, but Baekhyun shrugs his initial need to bristle at her words off and answers easily: “You would be surprised, sister. It is not as dead as it might seem on first glance.”  
The woman makes a sound as if she wants to scoff, holding back the sound by turning her head away just the moment they step through the central door of the stone temple.  
And yet it is not a temple, simply a cave stretching deep into the mountain, a single staircase carved into the middle, leading even higher up towards a spot of light that dances across the ground, painting little specks and patterns of sunshine onto the sandstone underneath their feet.  They climb the stairs in silence, higher and higher and Baekhyun shivers with the cold of the cavern, the cold of the mountain that creeps into the layers of his clothes and into his skin, raising gooseflesh in its wake. When they step out into the open once again, it’s blindingly bright, Baekhyun flinching back from the white that suddenly shines down upon him, his eyes closing just long enough for him to feel the sudden warmth of a gentle sun on his skin. It’s almost the same warmth of the sun by the ocean, cool and soothing while heating up his shivering body. 

And yet when he opens his eyes again, he is stunned into silence, his feet stopping before he can help it as he takes in the view before him. Behind him the end of the staircase is nothing but a rough hole in the wall, black against the light out here. It is almost as if he stepped out into a different world the moment he left the cave - a world full of winding towers clinging to high cliffs, houses lining the narrow streets and paths that reach out from the cavern, painted as white as the snow hanging on the mountain tops above their heads. There are gardens of flowers and herbs surrounding each of the little houses that are leaning against each other, almost as if their are nestled together in groups, steadying each other where they reach down the side of the plane they are standing on, precariously balanced on the edges. 

“Come.”, Jieun urges him silently and she seems proud upon his awe, a smile gracing her lips that is so faint, it could as well be just Baekhyun’s imagination. “The master is already waiting for you.”

It is so different, the air of this place, the feeling of it. 

There are people between the houses, talking in groups, some training on square patches of sand, outlined by rocks that mark a border to the space. Baekhyun can even spot archers between the buildings, standing in a neat row, a loud voice belting out commands they follow as if they are one mind, one body.  Jieun leads him down what seems to be the main road, broad and branching off into the village on either side, growing wider until it shapes out into the round yard, right in front of the biggest building Baekhyun can make out from where he stands. It’s another temple that is built into the mountain itself, yet this one is different than the one below. The walls are smooth, the windows intricately decorated with runes and window sills that are adorned with flowers that grow along the yellow stone, the buds stretching themselves higher along the walls in search of the sun. 

“This way.”, Jieun tells him while pushing the door to the temple open - a simple door, Baekhyun thinks, compared to the gates of the temple, so heavy one had to lean their entire weight against them to have them swing open like the door before him now does. “And mind your step.”

Warm air rushed into his face when he follows her, tussling his hair and brushing over his cheeks like a lover’s hand and Baekhyun feels like closing his eyes, like a child coming home to the smell of mother’s supper and tender words of greeting. The thought startles him, confusion having his forehead creasing and he breathes in deeply, pausing at the smell of old parchment and leather.   
Before him, there is nothing but a narrow bridge of stone, arching across an abyss that is so deep, he doesn’t dare lean forward in search of the bottom. It is not really an abyss, Baekhyun corrects himself with a frown, stopping by the beginning of the bridge and ignoring Jieun’s call of his name from the other side. There are hundreds of bridges like this one, spanning out below him - from one side to the other, connecting the walls of the tower he stands in. And the walls are lined with shelves, hammered directly into the stone or made completely of marble, silver metal bars holding back piles of scrolls from tumbling down into the pit. There are holes lining the top of every shelf, letting in the gentle sunlight that is reflected off of the paper and leather backs of countless books.   
“Brother Baekhyun.”, Jieun calls out to him again, annoyed this time and he rips himself away from the sight, quickly hurrying across the bridge to join her at the base of yet another staircase. 

“You will go up there alone.”, she echoes Chanyeol’s words from earlier, bowing to him before pivoting on her heel and striding off to the side, where she easily swings herself up over a bookshelf and then down to one of the bridges leading into a dark tunnel. He swallows, his gaze following her until she vanishes out of his field of vision.  The staircase before him is dark - so dark in fact, Baekhyun can barely see where he places his feet the higher he climbs, the darkness thickening to the point where he wishes he would have a torch, or at least a candle to guide him the way. He steps out into a circular room, only seconds after the light finally broke through the shadows again, so brightly lit with the rising sun he squints towards the side of the room, where the walls open into a portico of thin, tree-like pillars.  There is a desk, in the middle of the room, overflowing with papers like the rest of the tower seemingly does and behind it, a man. He’s impressive even while sitting, broad shoulders and muscles arms, glimpsing through the open sleeves of his tunic.   
“Please place all your weapons on the table before me, assassin.”, the man instructs him without even looking up, bent so low over one of the books, Baekhyun can’t see his face, only a shock of black hair and a pale, runed forehead. When he doesn’t move, the stranger finally looks up, shooting him a puzzled look out of dark brown eyes, lined with the faintest of wrinkles.  “Do you not speak my language? You come from the desert, no?”

“I do.”, Baekhyun shakes his head slowly, hesitantly stepping towards the desk while pulling at the fabric of his sash, revealing his dagger to pull it out carefully and place it on top of a stack of books, the leather of their backs already cracking with age. 

“No more?”, the man asks him, sounding confused and Baekhyun shakes his head again.   
“I don’t need more than this dagger.”, he tells the man and the other actually smiles at him, even if the curve of his lips is small and barely there.   
But it’s his eyes that twinkle up at Baekhyun through thick lashes that soften his face, the way the wrinkles around them deepening just slightly.  
“Follow me.”, he says eventually, after looking at Baekhyun with obvious curiosity written over his handsome face, the chair scraping loudly over the floor as he gets up to lead Baekhyun out through the open wall and into the portico. They are walking between two cliffs, falling just to the edge of the pillars, water running in shallow canals on either side of the small path that leads further into the heart of the mountain. And with each step he takes, Baekhyun feels more and more like he is walking into something he doesn’t understand. It is so different from the desert temple, it is making his heart ache.  As beautiful as this world is, he misses the place he came to call home. 

He brushes away the thought lingering in the back of his mind with an angry shake of his head, nearly stumbling into the man’s back when the other stops walking, turning gracefully to the side to reveal a circular yard, the floor smooth with brocks of white stone, the canals gurgling softly where they span the circle. There is only a single tree growing in the little yard between the high cliffs - a crippled little thing with a twisted trunk and small, reddish leaves whispering softly in the hint of a breeze tussling Baekhyun’s hair - a simple stone bench underneath it. But safe from the tree, there is nothing else in the stone circle, just him and the stranger behind him.   
“Excuse me-”, Baekhyun starts, turning to face the man who lead him there, only to realize he already started back down the path they came from, not even turning back to look at Baekhyun even when he calls out for him in confusion.   
With a disgruntled sound, Baekhyun takes another step into the circle, across a canal that splashes water up against his boot. Perhaps he’s supposed to wait here for the master he’s supposed to meet, he thinks with a grimace, already halfway through the circle when he notices the tree moving.  
At first it’s as if the trunk is twisting in on itself even more, the bark groaning while it bends more towards the stone wall behind it, leaves bending down so low they almost touch the water of the stream below. The crumble and fall, one after the other, until the trunk suddenly snaps upright again with an audible snap, the entire tree shaking with the force of it.   
“My apologies.”, a voice says from beside the tree and Baekhyun’s eyes rip away from the shaking treetop and onto the form of a woman, seemingly slowly appearing out of thin air right next to the quivering tree trunk.   
“I forgot it was already the time to meet you. Time is such a strange concept to me, by now.”

Baekhyun stands there, rooted to the spot and he feels as if his tongue is sticking to the roof of his mouth, his shoulders suddenly feeling tense and his skin crawling with a feeling all to familiar.   
The woman is looking at him with wide, pitch black eyes - only a set of holes that bore into his, making him feel like a mouse in front of a rattlesnake. He already felt like this before, his mind tells him in a fit of sudden panic.   
Her face is as white as snow, even in the golden flow of the sunlight slowly washing down the cliffs surrounding them, her hair the color of a gold so pale, it is barely of any color at all. Like snow, touched by a sunrise.

He’s never seen an assassin with hair like this - not even his own hair holds any other shade than black by now - and the thought rattles him to the bone. 

She looks like a paladin of the order, terribly beautiful and devastatingly breathtaking where she stands in a tight crimson gown that leaves her shoulders naked, the sleeves falling just shy of the knuckles of her small hands.   
“I know what you see.”, she tells him with a smile that is not quite gentle and yet his heart ceases its hammering, slowing down until it is nothing more than a dull thud against his throat. “I see it too, looking at you. Should you not be aware that there is no danger here, amongst brothers and sisters of your own ethos?”  
Her voice is like the water murmuring by his feet, soft and almost soothing, but there is something to her eyes that is all too predatory, her lashes fluttering against her cheekbones when she blinks, only once and resumes her gaze on his face as unwavering as a predator would look at their prey.   
“I once thought, there wasn’t.”, Baekhyun answers her slowly, eyes lingering warily on the white of her hair, slightly wavy and held back from her small, heart shaped face by two braids, pulled back from her temples.   
“But even amongst people of my own brotherhood, there is mistrust.”  
She inclines her head then, taking a couple of small steps forward to sink down onto the bench underneath the tree, picking up one of the reddish leaves to turn it between her fingers by its stem.   
“Very well.”, she smiles, letting her eyes flutter away from Baekhyun and to the side of the circle. She’s silent for a moment then, her voice humming out a small tune before Baekhyun clears his throat and she looks up at him again, her head cocking to the side.   
“Why am I here?”, he asks, not moving even though she pats the spot beside her on the bench with a silent, tinkling laughter - a laughter like the sound of a silver bell, clear and sharp.   
“You are nothing but a poacher on our lands, brother Baekhyun from the desert. Or should I call you adept as they do in the order?”, she gives back and her words are as cutting as her laughter.  “What would you prefer?”  
“I am no longer a member of the order and perhaps I never truly was. The choice I made was the first in my life and I don’t think of myself as a member of the order anymore, my lady.”  
She pauses her head tilting so far to the side, the small braids running down the side of her temples move, sliding over her bare shoulders. Her hair is almost as white as her skin and Baekhyun finds his eyes lingering on it, on the strange way it glows in the sunlight that slowly trickles down over gray, almost black stone around them.   
“Tell me.”, she suddenly starts then, her fingers starting to rip the leaf she’s holding apart, little by little as if she’s trying to reveal the skeleton beneath the red skin.   
“Do you call the god in your temple by a title? Do you not call him by his given name? Then why do you hesitant to do the same with me?”  
  
“You never….”, Baekhyun starts and clears his throat then, nervous. “Told me your name.”

“You never asked.”, she gives back and stands from the bench, the folds of her thick, satin dress rustling as she starts walking towards him, a smile on her lips that reminds him too much of Minseok.   
It has nothing human, doesn’t move the black of her eyes that bores into his own still brown ones without mercy, even while she is walking towards and then, eventually, past him.   
“Come walk with me.”, she tells him calmly and holds out a hand to him, as if she expects him to take it. Her face only falters slightly when Baekhyun moves in her direction, ignoring the hand offered to him with a wary glance.   
“Why are you afraid of me?”, comes her silent and yet amused sounding question, her eyes lingering on him from her peripheral, her blood red lips curled just at the corners. It seems more like a grimace than anything else, as if she’s snarling at him. Like a wolf in a human skin.  Baekhyun breathes in, slowly. Releasing the breath again, he presses his lips together, replying silently: “You confuse me. I don’t know why I’m here. It is unsettling, to say the least.”  
Another trickle of laughter bubbles over her lips, her tiny hand curling in front of her mouth, the red leaf still crumbled between her slender, claw like fingers. “You sound like you’re trying to speak like someone else. Do you really miss him so much, you try to be like him? Ah, don’t give me that look. I have seen the look on someone’s face if they are loving too deeply. Sometimes…” A moment of silence, her head tilting down before she shoots him a look full of mischief. 

“I allow myself to look like that, too. Your face is open with your emotions, assassin. It marks you a member of the order.”  
“Will you tell me, why I am here, or not?”, Baekhyun snaps and he can’t even flinch at his own sharp tone, even though she gives him a look that is almost angry.   
“Now you sound like yourself.”, she just quips and steps into the circular room, the desk still occupied by the tall man, who quickly raises to his feet to greet her with a deep bow.   
“Mistress Jinsoul.”, he says with a voice sounding like water flowing over gravel. “Should I escort the assassin back to-”  
“I am taking him to the sanctum.”, the woman by Baekhyun’s side cuts the man off with a wave of her hand, voice as gentle as a mother speaking to her child. “Thank you, Siwon.”  
The man’s gaze flickers over to Baekhyun then, minute and quick, before he bows quickly and makes his way around the desk, Jinsoul’s hand rising to touch his shoulder, stopping him.   
“Please go and fetch Hoseok for me, my brother.”, she tells him and Siwon nods again, pressing his lips together so tightly they are nothing but white lines in his face.   
“Come.”, Jinsoul then turns towards Baekhyun, making her way towards the other side of the room and to where a small door sits half-hidden between two high bookshelves. She ducks through it, gathering the long train of her dress between her hands, bunching the material together in front of her lap, the satin pulling taut across her back. There is a deep cut down the spine of her back, the material flapping open to reveal long, winding lines of golden runes, etched into her skin.  She’s a paladin.   
  
The thought runs hot and thick down his throat, like molasses of molten sand, pooling low in his stomach and he stops, just as they are walking out onto a bridge so narrow, Baekhyun can barely stand with both his feet next to each other.  A paladin, with golden hair and white skin, the ritual runes already running down her body. Old, the metal laid into her skin scarred around the edges where her skin rises with the alien matter. '  
She halts, turning on the bridge, the abyss below her feet seeming to stretch into sheer nothingness, the world underneath seeming as small as the drawings on a map.   
“Why am I here?”, Baekhyun hears himself ask again and her face twists into a scowl, features darkening, veins webbing underneath her skin with purple and red.   
“You are here to take a life.”, she tells him and her voice echoes into the abyss below, up into the sky.   
“And I will let you, even though the blood flowing in these lands is not yours to spill. It is mine. It always was mine and it will always be mine, until the stars melt from the sky and the earth sinks into the ocean. You, assassin, are nothing to me. But I will let you live, because you bear the marks of the one I love. You carry his scent to me, the way he speak, the dagger forged by his hands. Now come.”  
She turns then, so graceful it is almost as if she is floating in the air, the train of her dress dragging over the bridge and spilling down the side of it. 

“Why should I follow you?”, Baekhyun asks loudly and she stops once more, her back turned to him.  
“Do not fear me, child. I mean no harm to you, now.”  
  
She disappears into the shadows between two boulders, then, her white hair like a flame vanishing into the darkness between the stone where it parts into yet another cave, flooded with light.   
It’s another circular room - so high Baekhyun has to crane his head back to even be able to see the ceiling above, hanging low with rough stone. The tip of a mountain ridge, hollowed out to give way to what seems like a throne room, a dias rising where the sunlight falls through a window made of golden glass, casting the harsh shadows of five thrones across the marble floor, veined with black.  There are golden ravens sitting on the back of each of the thrones, the one in the middle having its wings spread wide, the shadow almost looking like an angel painted onto the floor - and yet it’s foreboding, the black in the golden light.   
“And behold, I will turn to stone when my time has come. There I will meet my brothers and sisters. My parents and maters. Behold, they are calling my name now.”, Jinsoul loudly says while she slowly walks around the room, so close to the wall her red satin dress catches on the rough stone of the simple, chiseled walls. “And know thy, brother, we shall be the pillars of the world, seventeen. The pillars of destruction, the ones to tear the world from its axis to thrust it into eternal darkness.”

Baekhyun recognizes the words, has them burned into the back of his mind like he has memorized Jongdae’s touches across his skin. The feeling of dry parchment underneath his fingers during a warm night, Jongdae’s lips hot against the back of his neck. The prayer of the gods. Jongin has read it to him several times, making sure he remembers every single word.  
“Two of these seats are already taken.”, Jinsoul says from where she is standing next to one of the thrones, leaned against it almost lazily, her fingers sliding down what seems to be the chest of a marble statue, seated there.   
“And one of them shall be mine, when the time has come.”

“What is this?”

His voice is quivering - and only then he realizes he is shaking from head to toe, something pouding against the bone of his sternum, as if something is trying to get out.   
Jinsoul’s eyes are heavy on him and for once, there is no smile on her lips, no warmth on her face. 

“The tomb of the gods. As there is one underneath your tiny temple.”, she answers him, punctuating each word carefully, watching him from where she stands. “The last resting place for those who are immortal and turn to stone. I will take my rightful place in their middle, and the god of your temple will choose to sit beside me.”  
“But you’re a paladin of the order.”, Baekhyun blurts out and Jinsoul’s face curls in disgust, an emotion edging on hatred. For a moment she just stands there, fingers curling into the chest of the marble statue, before she whispers: “Aren’t you an adept of the order, Baekhyun? Did you not turn your back on their teachings to join the brotherhood? How impudent of you to assume you are the only one, able to do that.”  
“I was not a paladin when I left them. The only way to ascent to the sacred soul, is to kill a god.”, he breathes out in horror and she straightens, her spine snapping upwards like the string of a bow, her voice thundering through the circular throne room. 

“I am the last slayer of gods serving the order. I became their paladin long before your parents existed and I let them cut my child out of my body and kill it for what I once believed to be the only truth. Now, little fool, I am the angel of their nightmares, the mistress of death that will haunt them until I have killed every single one of them who dares to step foot on my lands. Be glad, assassin, that your blood is purged from their light, or I would have ripped your heart out the moment you crossed my borders. Not even my love for the man you serve can stop me from fulfilling my destiny as their downfall and fall they will.”

The room starts rumbling underneath his feet, the walls cracking with each of her words, dust slowly raining from the ceiling above. He’s seen that before, a voice in the back of his head tells him, but it’s blurry and faint and he feels as if his entire body is shivering with it - the horror gripping his soul so deep, it has his muscles seizing up.   
“Balance.”, she spits and the entire room seems to tighten with her words, the air rushing out of Baekhyun’s lungs as he grips his chest with both his hands, fingers curling into the soft cotton of his tunic.   
“The world needs balance, isn’t that right? Do they not teach us from the moment we take our first breath that the world is bound to come undone, as soon as we do not respect the equity between light and dark? And yet they grow inside the heart of your temple like an abscess, festering.”

“If you know about it”, Baekhyun grits out, slowly backing away from her and the thrones. “Why do you not help us? If you know there is a traitor in out middle, why do you keep quiet about it?”  
“I gave you the most powerful tool to get rid of the tumor growing inside you.”, her voice whips through the room, like a punch to his throat. “If you use it or not, is not my responsibility. I sent you your god.”  
The room shrinks around him then, the golden window slowly cracking apart, exploding into a rain of light and blackness.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

The iron spear clatters to the floor so loud, Jongdae sees several people around the room flinch, heads turning towards the source of the sudden commotion forming around the recess spanning across the back of the preaching chapel. It’s the middle of new moon’s reading, masters and apprentices gathered in the giant hall all the same, kneeling in deep prayer. The sudden interruption has them all looking up, whispers rippling through the room as Hangeng falls silent in his reading, cut off with a startled sound.  At the bottom of the stairs leading up to the pulpit, stands Jaejoong, eyes trained on Minseok sitting just a couple of feet behind Hangeng, hands folded on his lap in prayer and Jongdae feels his blood run cold in his veins, wedged between Seungwan and Sehun, kneeling on the ground. 

“What is this?”, Hangeng demands, pointing down at the spear thrown at Jaejoong’s feet. “How dare you interrupt the reading? Have you no integrity?”

Jaejoong’s eyes flicker over to the creed master, minute and fleeting, before they find Minseok’s face again, who lifts a single eyebrow in silent puzzlement. “I challenge you.”  
A gasp runs through the crowd gathered around them, Yixing making such a loud sound next to Jongin, the prophet startles, nearly slipping out of his chair with how violently he flinches away from his companions side. The look of pain flickering across Yixing’s features might be barely there, but Jongdae knows that pain, feels it echoing around in his chest, barely contained by the shock that runs through his body while he watches the scene in front of him unfold.  
“And on what rudiment?”, Minseok asks slowly, sounding almost lazy with his eyes dark and curious in Jaejoong’s face.   
“You are aware that there has to be a reason for a challenge in the brotherhood, especially if you are asking a duel from one of us up here.”  
“I do not accept you as one of the leaders sitting on the throne of this temple.”, Jaejoong snaps, spitting into the dirt by his feet. “And I have more than enough rudiment not to.”  
“That would be?”, comes Jongin’s silent, reluctant voice, his face visibly morphed into obvious confusion. “Minseok has done nothing but to-”  
“You!”, Jaejoong suddenly thunders, pointing a finger at Jongin, who falls silent with his spine pulling ramrod straight with his hands clutching his knees, knuckles white.   
“Have no right to defend him! Brothers and sisters! Do you really want to follow a man, who nearly took the life of one of our own, his own blood brother?”  
The silence is thick, covering them all like a blanket as all eyes fall onto the gallery - onto Minseok and Jongin, who sit there as still as statues, none of them even blinking at the accusation. 

“Who told you this nonsense?”

It’s Yixing, sitting at the edge of his seat, seeming as if he is about to spring from his seat, his face thunderous with anger as he stares the other master down, mouth twisted into a cruel grimace.   
“Nonsense?”, Jaejoong echoes, derisive and sneering. “Show us the scars on Jongin’s back and tell us how he fell and broke his spine! Tell us the reason the only dead god to step out of our rows in years chose to leave us behind, only hours after his own  _ haldae  _ got robbed the chance of aspiring.”  
“How dare you”, Jongin grits out, lips pulled back to reveal his teeth in a voiceless snarl and Jongdae has perhaps never seen him this angry, this outraged even though his voice is silent and yet it cuts through them all like a knife through glass. “How dare you address something that is none of your concern? How are you speak about me?”   
“I will not follow a man who nearly killed one of us.”, Jaejoong yells, face red and twisted, but the next thing he starts to say is drowned by Minseok’s calm, collected voice as he says:  “I accept your challenge. What are your terms?”  
Jaejoong pauses, a moment of puzzlement flying across his features as he stares up at the god, sitting leaned back in his chair, eyes aflame with something borderline murderous.  Jongdae feels himself recoil from the look on Minseok’s face, his insides feeling as if someone poured boiling water into his throat, letting it run down into his guts, blistering with heat.  There hasn’t been a duel of masters ever since. Jongdae can remember and only the gods might know, if one of them ever dared to challenge one of the immortals. It’s a suicide mission and Jongdae knows it. Everybody knows it, what with them shifting and protesting as loud as they dare to speak, the tension in the room so thick, you could cut it.   
  
“You are one of the gods.”, Jaejoong starts with balled fists, shoulders straight and chin raised. “So I will request from you to carry a weapon, while you go unarmed into the duel.”  
Jongin opens his mouth, about to protest - and yet Minseok calmly holds up a hand, silencing all the whispers and hisses echoing around the cave with one graceful flick of his wrist.   
“Very well.”, he answers the fuming master by his feet. “Anything else?”  
“No time for you to prepare.”, Jaejoong tells him and for the first time since he tossed the spear down between them, he sounds almost afraid. “We will duel now.”  
“To the death?”, Minseok asks suddenly and there is a cruel little twist to his mouth as he cocks his head to the side, blinking down at the assassin. “Is that what you want?”  
“Yes.”, comes the answer, hot and hateful and Minseok smiles a tad wider then. “I will have no mercy.”  
“Neither will I.”, Minseok gives back and holds out an arm, pointing at the far door where the corridor lies in bright sunshine falling through the ceiling. “Lead the way.”   
  


Jongdae feels as if there are needles stuck in his skin, pricking him from the inside as he watches from the slightly raised gallery, Seungwan by his side clutching at this arm so tightly, her fingernails are biting into his skin, leaving bloody wells in their wake. Minseok is still peeling out of the layers of his clothes, black and white falling to the ground as he slowly unties the flaps of his tunic, revealing white skin littered in scars. He looks dangerous, even while he stands there undressing, not a single flicker of emotion dancing across his features, although his lips are drawn tight.  Jongdae remembers the way Minseok fights, remembers finding himself on his back before he even had the chance to move, with the other man’s thighs hard and solid around his ribs.  He knows Minseok’s strength, sees it still in the tight tendons of muscle spanning under his skin like ropes. In all the time Jongdae has known the other man, he has never seen him lose a single fight.  And he looks so sure of himself, relaxed and cocky in the way he undresses, letting even his leather vambraces fall into the sand, kicking them away with the side of his shoe.  He looks all too relaxed, while Jaejoong on the other side of the duel ring paces back and forth, Sehun hot on his heels as he pleads with him in a hushed and yet echoing voice.   
  
“Master, don’t do this.”, Jongdae hears Sehun say and he sounds desperate, even on the verge of tears. “You can’t be serious about this!”  
“Leave me be, boy.”, Jaejoong snaps eventually, gripping his sword a little tighter as he whirls on his former apprentice, “Your concern is more than misplaced and unwelcome.”  
Sehun reels back, looking as if Jaejoong could have slapped him and it would have been less painful than those spiteful words and for a short moment Jongdae remembers himself - the way he always looked at Taeyeon and how painful her harsh words always were. He pities Sehun, suddenly, the feeling bubbling up inside of him and leaving as fast as it came, leaving him feeling hollow.  He wishes for a moment there were another hand to hold by his side than Seungwan’s, someone to steady him where he sways on his feet.   
  
“Are you prepared?”, Minseok ask, then and Jaejoong snaps to attention, his sword whirling in his hand as he steps forward and into the ring where Minseok is already waiting for him, hands relaxed by his sides. As if Jaejoong is nothing but a fly to him, not even the hint of a threat.  They start without warning, Jaejoong’s blade whistling through the air in a silver bow, aiming at Minseok’s shoulder. It’s a movement too quick for Jongdae’s eyes to follow, Minseok ducking to the side with his feet sliding through the sand underneath, painting lines across the floor as if he’s dancing. Jaejoong growls, loud and clear, swinging around with his sword raised high, slicing towards his opponent’s stomach, yet it takes nothing but a step backwards for Minseok to dodge the attack, hands raising to grip around Jaejoong’s arm and ripping him forward, sending him tumbling into the sand and onto his knees.  He is silent, not a single muscle on his face moving even while the other man in the ring springs to his feet and whirls on him, lunging at him with a yell of anger, blade raised high. Minseok is still dancing around him, barely touching him as he dodges his attacks, a pattern of long strides and dragging shoes left behind in their wake, as if they aren’t caught in a battle for their lives, but a ritual of sorts, runes painted into the sand by their feet and Jaejoong’s body when he’s send rolling across the ground by one of Minseok’s rolls. 

“Fight me!”, Jaejoong screams, spitting out grains of sand when he skits across the ring once again, face red in rage and even shame.   
He looks livid, throwing himself at the god in front of him yet again, voice snapping with his anger. “Fight me, you coward!”  
Jongdae hears himself gasp the moment he sees Minseok wince, his body curving inwards as his hands come up to curl around his throat, a splatter of red spraying into the sand as he stumbles away from Jaejoong’s sword, the blade crimson and dripping with the blood of Minseok’s throat.  The master emits a sound of victory as he watches Minseok stagger away from him, gasping for air with rattling breaths that sound wet and painful, blood pulsing from between his fingers with each of his heartbeats, the stream flowing down his neck and pooling in his collarbones. 

“This is the one you call an immortal god!”, Jaejoong gloats, spreading his arms wide as he turns on the silent, horrified audience of masters and students, standing around him on the galleries like pillars of salt, frozen in their shock. “This is the man who allowed members of our mortal enemy to live in our middle! Bring them forth too, if you dare! Let them fight for their lives and proof to us their-”  
He cuts himself off, spinning on his heel when the room starts vibrating with a deep, grumbling laugh, thrown back from the high ceiling and sounding as if it is coming from a thousand throats.  It’s a sound chilling Jongdae to the bone, having him shuddering along with each little chuckle that falls off of Minseok’s bloody lips where he is standing with his hands still curled around his throat, wet with his own blood. And yet, when he slowly lets them fall down to his sides, smearing crimson into his hip bones, the cut across his throat is slowly stitching itself back together, the muscles under his skin slowly growing tight, skin pink before it fades back into white.   
“Fool.”, he chuckles, wiping his fingers carelessly against the fabric of his pants. He darts forward without warning, the twitch of the muscles in his back the only sign of movement as he all but throws himself at the other assassin, seizing him with a hand across his face, fingers digging into the skin hard and ripping it open with pressure.  Jaejoong screams, taken off guard and flailing, his cry echoed by several voices around them in the room, Soojung’s the loudest of them all, shrill and panicked. Her voice is the only thing Jongdae hears for seconds, piercing through his chest and head as he watches Minseok lift Jaejoong as easily as if he were nothing more than a puppet, his skull slowly losing its shape under Minseok’s unyielding grip. 

“Is there anybody who wants to challenge me, now? Step forward now, or be silent forever.”, the god’s voice cuts through them all, having the room erupting in terror, when he suddenly bends down to his knees, slamming Jaejoong’s head against the ground with an ear shattering crack.  Jongdae propels himself into action then, jumping off the gallery and sprinting across the sand, hands reaching out for the god repeatedly punching Jaejoong against the floor, his head already cracking open as his voice turns into a screeching yell, breaking off completely when Minseok lifts his hand to punch down a hard fist into the bloody pulp left of the other’s face.   
“Stop!”, Jongdae cries out, sliding down onto his knees, hands reaching for Minseok’s shoulder, who snarls at him even though he doesn’t look at him, Jongdae’s fingers nearly coming into contact with the other’s skin. It’s as if he ran into a wall, a shadow rising between them and curling around his wrist, the force of his own movement thrown back at him and catapulting him across the arena, back against the gallery where he hits the high stairs with a crash that has his teeth rattling and his spine aching under his skin. The last thing he sees before the world starts swimming away into black, his head buzzing with pain, is Minseok’s bloody face, twisted into a wicked smirk.   
He fades away into the darkness with Soojung’s shrieking voice hammering through his mind. 

 

He can still see Jinsoul standing at the end of the path, her white hair like a brilliant flame against the blue backdrop of a afternoon sky, already dying with the flames of a sunset. She looks as if she’s bathed in fire, her red satin and silk dress as red as blood, the train curling around her legs as she stands above him like the god she is, her arms cradling the form of a child against her chest, pressing tender kisses into the boys pitch black hair and into the corners of his foxish eyes.  Indigo blue like the eyes of a paladin and Baekhyun shudders as he turns his back on them, starting down the way spanning the side of the mountain. The air is warm and yet biting cold into his skin, into the cuts left behind by the golden glass raining down onto him.  They are a painful reminder that he is tolerated on these lands and nothing more.  He has the goddess’s permission to stay until his target is killed and his mission is fulfilled, to spill blood in her kingdom if he has to and while that knowledge should ease his mind, should calm his thundering heart, it does nothing but to make him feel as if her eyes are resting on him even when Chanyeol on his carriage comes back into view, dozing on the hay with his head pillowed by his arms.  He is still shaking with the terror when he sinks into the seat of the wagon, clutching his hands in his lap and his head turned down and for once he is thankful for the silence.   
Chanyeol looks at him, momentarily and curious but opts to stay just as mum as Baekhyun himself, only clicking his tongue to get the horse moving, the carriage shaking with each bump and ridge in the uneven, earthen street, knocking them against each other.  He should be thankful, a part of whispers into his ear, sickly sweet like poison that is slowly bubbling up inside of him like vomit up his throat. Thankful for the knowledge that he is not the only one to ever turn their backs on the order and their teachings and yet - with a heart clenching in his chest - he can’t help but ask himself how many assassin’s have abandoned their creed just as he did to the ones who raised him and gave him a home for as long as he can remember.   
  
“I take it she allowed you to stay.”, Chanyeol says while watching Baekhyun unclaps his cloak and throw it on top of his simple bed in their shared chamber. It is not a question and so Baekhyun doesn’t answer, only looks at him with a small, reluctant smile that is tight around the edges.   
“How can you live here? In her shadow?”, Baekhyun asks instead of answering the unspoken question lingering between them, a hand dragging down his tired face and over his neck. He’s sticky with sweat and the little blood he wasn’t able to clean off his skin with the wet rag Siwon handed him as if he waited for them to come back from the sanctum, sprinkled with glass.  Chanyeol sighs, lifting a shoulder as he pushes off the doorframe, turning his back as he starts down the hallway, as if he’s sure Baekhyun will follow. And he does, steps heavy with sudden exhaustion that slams into him without warning, having his shoulders sagging and his legs feeling as if someone filled his boots with sand.   
“I see she did not show you her gentle side.”, the taller man states while leading Baekhyun down the staircase and into the tiny kitchen, pulling the plate with bread from the shelf and placing it on the table, gesturing for Baekhyun to sit down. 

“I do not take her for a violent leader.”, Baekhyun disagrees silently, thankfully pulling the large cup of water towards himself when Chanyeol sets it down on the table for him, taking the seat on the opposite end of the table and reaching for the bread. “I just…”  
“They are not human anymore, Baekhyun.”, Chanyeol tells him softly, giving him a smile that is almost parental. “To you they might still seem human and yet… they are not alive anymore. All of them had to walk down the path of death to become what they are. She did it twice.”  
“Paladins of the order do not… kill to become what they are.”, he answers, setting down his cup with shaking, clammy fingers. “To abandon the sacred soul and obtain godhood… how many lives did she have to take?”  
“Thousands, perhaps.”, Chanyeol silently agrees, shaking his head at his own train of thought, releasing a heavy breath while he leans back in his chair, kicking his long legs out underneath the table.  
“But still I believe… that she might be the only one who understands the real weight of our creed. She is- as... long as I’ve known the assassins of these lands for… I have never known a more peaceful kingdom. Not even the Delta, Baekhyun. And if I had known sooner… perhaps- perhaps I would have chosen a different path.”  
Baekhyun turns his head away then, looking down at his hands with his heart drumming heavily in his throat, his finger trembling even while they are grasping his cup so tightly his knuckles are turning white underneath his skin. When he looks back up at Chanyeol, he wishes he would have a pendant to clasp, too. He wishes he could feel Jongdae’s heartbeat, suddenly - just so he could feel the steady weight grounding him. Never before has he felt this cut-loose, this lonely and helpless. 

“I wish I would have never left the temple.”, he whispers, nearly flinching when Chanyeol mutters:  “We can not always stay with the ones we care for. Not if they don’t want us to.”

 

Nights in the desert are warm, sometimes. Thick with the heat of the day still lingering in the sand, soft to the touch and gentle like soothing water running over frantic minds. The sky is clearer there, too. Out here it almost feels as if the shadows of the mountain is swallowing even the sky above, painting the world a black so deep, Baekhyun feels as if he vanishes with it.  Where he should be thankful for it, he feels horrified - almost as if the presence of a dead god changes the fabric of reality itself, shaping the world into something that is enemy to the light from the inside out. He ducks into the shadows of a house, pressing himself against the cold wall as he inches closer to the door of the smithy, the glowing coals of the forge throwing curling shadows across the ground in front of the shop. There is movement inside the house, a candle lit in the window to illuminate the patch of grass leading up to the front door, people walking back and forth behind the glass like figurines of a shadow theater. The house is simple - a one floor building with rough stone walls and a straw roof, the woodwork open above the smithy. When Baekhyun swings himself up onto the entablature, he is thankful for the little light of the forge, the coals glowing just enough to lead him the way toward the small gap between the stones, just big enough for him to squeeze through and onto the beams on the other side, hidden in the shadows of the room below. There is candlelight flickering across the wood underneath his feet, making his own frame dance against the inside of the roof and he holds his breath, reaching up to pull himself as close to the pediment as he can. There are splinters of wood already stuck in his palms, in the cuts along his forearms where they are not wrapped in fabric across his wrists and he suppresses a hiss of discomfort, barely stopping himself from making a sound when the door behind him swings open to reveal a woman, long black hair tied messily on the top of her head and falling across her neck and into her forehead. She’s small, her frame concealed by a dress that seems too large on her body, a little too wide around her middle and yet when she bends down to place a large pot of soup on the table below him, her stomach is pulling against the dark green linen of her skirt. 

“Wash your hands.”, she commands over her shoulder in a voice that sounds used to the sentence, as if she repeats it over and over again, in the same tone and manner as she did just now, her eyebrows an angry arch above her almond shaped, brown eyes. “And get your father. I will not heat this soup up for him again.”  
“But mother he said-”, a child’s voice says from the other side of the door, whiny and still tumbling over the words, sounding tired and Baekhyun can barely make out the shape of a girl standing in the doorframe, rubbing a tiny fist over her eye.   
“I don’t care what he says.”, the woman cuts her off with a huff and sinks into a chair, stretching her legs with a pained sound that has Baekhyun’s heart clenching. He suddenly thinks of Seungwan and her slightly swollen stomach, the way her whole body was aching after riding through the desert because of his foolish wish to rescue Junmyeon. The woman’s braid reminds him of her too, the way she always wears her long hair tied back just at the crown, letting the braid vanish into the rest of her silken, inky strands.  The girl grumbles, turning around with a swinging shirt to run out the room, her footsteps slowly fading and barely masking the creaking of the wood underneath Baekhyun’s feet when he shifts where he’s balanced just underneath the roof, head brushing against the straw.  Under him the woman is struggling with a stack of wooden bowls, a spoon falling and clattering to the floor, a heavy sigh slipping past her lips as she looks down at it, bowls still balanced in her arms.   
“Let me.”, a deep voice says from the door, a man striding into the room and gracefully bending down to pluck the spoon from the floor, rubbing it clean with the edge of his sleeveless, simple shirt.   
“Wash that.”, the woman clicks her tongue and the man rolls his eyes, walking over to a barrel of water in the corner, rinsing the spoon quickly before returning to the table, just as two children tumble into the room, engaged in loud discussion, their voices swimming into each other from how quickly they are talking.  
“Yoongi, stop that.”, the man commands with a steely voice when the older child, a boy of maybe seven years, starts pulling the girl’s braid, dangling above the waistband of her skirt. She’s crying already, her eyes red and shining with tears and the smith pulls her up into his lap with a pointed look towards his son, who gives him an innocent look with rising shoulders.   
“She started it.”, he mutters while slumping into a chair, his mother reaching over to pull him upright by the ear without even looking at him, busy spooning soup into their bowls and passing them around.   
“If we would live our lives by those words, we would be throwing stones at every carriage passing by.”, the man tells the boy eventually, letting the girl slip into her own chair beside him, blowing air into her soup with puffed out cheeks and wet lips. 

“You tell me to live in peace, father.”, Yoongi starts to protest and the man lifts a thick eyebrow at him, almost as if he is used to the discussion following, the mother already shaking her head with a smile as she sinks down into her seat to start eating, glancing back and forth between her husband and her son on either side of the table. “And yet you make weapons used for war. That is not peace, father.”  
“The weapons I forge - and you should know this… are not for war, but to bring salvation to the world, Yoongi.”, the smith answers calmly, stirring his soup to let it cool down, steam rising up into his face. “Death brought by the weapons of our craft grant mercy to the world and salvation to those-”  
“Slain by them. Yes I know.”, the boy interrupts with a scowl, staring at his father with narrowed eyes, who answers with gaze with his lips pressed together before he starts: “Do I have to send you up the mountain to-”  
“Kyungsoo.”, the mother suddenly says with a shake of her head, almost nervous as she places a finger across her lips in a motion for silence. “Not now.”  
Yoongi huffs, pushing an overflowing spoon into his mouth, still scowling and the woman reaches out to him, slapping him on the back of his head. “Stop eating. We didn’t say our prayers yet.”  
Prayers, Baekhyun thinks with a grimace that has his insides twisting in dread, his fingers tightening where he keeps himself propped up against one of the beams supporting the roof, eyes lingering on the smith beneath.   
He’s spoken thousands of prayers in the order, thanking the gods for his food.  Perhaps, he tells himself while he settles deeper into the shadows, letting the darkness wrap around his body just like Jongdae taught him, this is the proof he needs to fulfill his mission.  The boy groans in annoyance but drops his spoon, holding out his hands on either side of him - one for his sister to take and one for his mother, who gives him a gentle smile and strokes a hand over his almost black hair before wrapping her fingers around his own. Her hand isn’t much larger than his, pale against the sun kissed tan of the boy’s skin.   
“By thy mercy”, Kyungsoo starts as soon as his wife reaches for his hand, their fingers lacing together on top of the table in a way that speaks volumes of the love between them, his eyes on her so soft, Baekhyun can’t help but to think of the way Jongdae sometimes looks at him when he believes Baekhyun isn’t paying attention. “My words shall be truthful, my eyes shall not bring judgement. By thy creed, my sword shall be swift and righteous. I shall honor the life we are given and the death we bring. I shall be thankful for the night, for the shadows are thy healing hand falling upon me.”  
Baekhyun doesn’t wait for the rest of the words falling off the smith’s lips, his insides twisting with such shock, he can’t even look down when he hears Yoongi snort, the sound of wood cluttering to the table and the mother’s scolding voice. The prayer follows him out into the night when he falls off the beams, throwing himself into the shadows of the smithy with a racing heart and thundering thoughts, his fingers pressed to the spot where Jongdae’s dagger sliced into him all those months ago. 

 

Baekhyun nearly startles out of his skin when the door to the smithy swings open, throwing a long strip of warm light into the dark room, Kyungsoo’s voice breaking through the noise of his own mind.   
“Don’t look at me like that, Yerim, one day he has to learn.”  
“Not like that, Kyungsoo.”, comes the silent, sad answer and then: “Please come to bed, soon.”  
“I will only put out the forge.”, the smith promises with a smile before he closes the door, shrouding the smithy into twilight again. When he turns, his face is twisted, his eyes wandering across the crates and barrels by the walls, to the anvil in the middle of the shop and his hand travels over the handle of the heavy hammer as he passes it, sinking down onto a three legged stool in front of the still glowing coals with his face in his hands. He looks guilty, stricken with an emotion Baekhyun doesn’t understand and desperately wants to be the sign of confession he needs to dart from his hiding spot and kill the man. And yet, the prayer he heard keep hims back, rooted to the spot where he is still pressed against the wall, hands clutching his own chest as if he can claw his way inside and rip out the doubt that is festering inside of him for hours now.   
“I know you are here.”, Kyungsoo suddenly says from the fire, his head lifting slowly from his hands, eyes trained on the spot where the shadows around Baekhyun tighten to the point of swallowing the light, black even on his own skin as if they are a living being. Did Jongdae feel like this, that night when he first faced Baekhyun in battle, setting a path for the both of them that now seems as if it can only lead to destruction? Is this what he saw when he stepped forward to face him - a man willing to fight, ready to lose his life for someone he cared for?  
“Come forth.”, Kyungsoo continues, but instead of getting to his feet as Baekhyun expects him to, he stays seated, hands now folded and dangling in the space between his knees. And Baekhyun does, the shadows falling away around him like a cloak and slithering to the ground in a cloud of smoke, dissipating like fog. There is a frown on Kyungsoo’s lips - almost as if he’s not sure if he wants to smile or grimace, his eyes wandering over Baekhyun’s body, lingering on the silver crows keeping his tunic shut around his neck, the collar high against his throat, snug and almost too tight with how clogged it feels.   
“I made those.”, the smith says slowly, gesturing a hand in the vague direction of his own neck, his chin jerking forward to point at Baekhyun. “Just weeks ago. I didn’t think to see them again… so soon.”  
“I thank you for these.”, Baekhyun gives back slowly, taking another step forward and into the glow of the forge, Kyungsoo’s shoulders going rigid minutely. It’s a small moment, so short it is barely there but Baekhyun has learned enough about reading people to notice it and the way the man’s eyes flicker down to his sash, like he knows his dagger is hidden there.   
“Why are you here?”, he asks then, straightening on his stool and leveling Baekhyun with a gaze that speaks more than a thousand words. There is a glint in his eyes that tells him he’s ready to fight, if he has to, the muscles in his arms straining with strength like ropes pulling taut. Baekhyun is sure if he wanted to, he could easily bash his head in with his hammer, just in arm’s reach between them.   
“If you know who I am and what I am… Don’t you know why I am here, too?”, he replies with a motion towards his sash, pulling the fabric down just enough for the pommel of his weapon to peak out from the crimson fabric.   
“Or are you asking for the reason?”

“I am asking for just that.”, Kyungsoo tells him with a sad smile, gaze wandering over to the door leading back into the house, the sound of clattering wooden bowls and splashing water just barely audible through it. His eyes are soft, but they harden as soon as he turns back to Baekhyun, mouth set in a grim, determined line. “And I will not accept to be killed for what I know.”  
“That prayer.”, Baekhyun starts, cursing himself for the quiver in his voice. “How did you learn it?”  
Kyungsoo raises both his eyebrows, clearly surprised and slightly taken aback by the question, before he answers, voice so silent Baekhyun can barely hear: “The same way you did. Did you… do you know who I am?”  
“A traitor to the brotherhood, as I was told.”, he answers, letting his hands sink away from his sash at the incredulous look Kyungsoo gives him, eyes suddenly aflame with anger and his voice as hard as the steel under his hammer day in and day out. 

“I am the one who forges all the weapons used by the brotherhood, unless decided otherwise. I forge the daggers given to the apprentices, I assist in crafting the armors you wear into battle.”, the smith starts, slowly rising from his seat to start pulling his shirt from the waistband of his pants, peeling it away from his stomach. “I used to shed blood just as you did to drain yourself of color and mortality, spoke the same vows. And you come to me, telling me I am accused of being a traitor? The only thing I did to ever abandon my creed was choose the path of providing instead of taking lives.”  
When he shucks out of his shirt, letting it fall onto the stool behind himself, he spreads his arms while stepping forward in Baekhyun’s direction, the shadows falling across his torso only deepening with the ink spread across his chest. Runes of protection, passages of the creed tattooed into his skin so deep, the outlines are scarred and white, little scars that criss cross over his pectoral muscles.   
“Why would the brotherhood think of me as a traitor?”, the smith asks him silently and his voice is nearly sad with the accusation, making Baekhyun’s chest tighten with it.   
“There is evidence of you trading weapons with the enemy, giving the ones forged from blemished steel to the temples and the assassin’s relying on them with their lives.”, Baekhyun whispers back and Kyungsoo’s lips stretch into a cruel smile, borderline insane around the edges.   
“I would never do that.”, he answers Baekhyun slowly, cocking his head to the side. “But slit my throat and search my shop to find out if it’s true or a lie, assassin.”

 

There is a weird feeling of deja-vu washing over him when Jongdae opens his eyes to look up at the ceiling above him, shrouded in darkness and yet dancing with golden inlays of mosaics.   
He knows Minseok is sitting by his side, the rustling of paper again dry fingers and the smell of lavender almost too strong in his nose. Minseok always seemed to smell like flowers, ever since Jongdae knew him - a silent, almost shy boy standing in the line of young apprentices welcoming Jongdae as one of their own when he first arrived in the brotherhood, still too young to train under a master. The other always seemed reluctant even while he was growing stronger than all of them too quickly, his hair already pitch black when Jongdae’s eyes started to lose their color and Taeyeon claimed him as her own.  And there is still something of the child Jongdae remembers left in Minseok’s features, in the soft slope of his mouth and the round of his cheeks, even though the rest of him seems to have changed to a point where Jongdae doesn’t recognize him anymore.  What about himself though, a voice in the back of his mind asks him while his eyes wander over the other man’s face. Is the same for him now or is he still looking like himself?  There are dark lines surrounding Minseok’s eyes, the residue from old runes etched into his white skin, the veins visible where they are running down the side of his neck and into the collar of his shirt.  When Minseok looks at him out of the corner of his eyes, he can’t even flinch away from it anymore.  There is something  thrumming inside of him with the beat of his heart - an understanding so deep Jongdae doesn’t know where it comes from and he isn’t sure he wants to know.   
  
“I was starting to wonder if I killed you.”, Minseok starts and he sounds as if he wants to apologize, his voice gentler than Jongdae has heard it in a very long time. He nearly sounds like the gangly teenager Minseok once was, muscles already strong but his limbs too long to be graceful like their masters used to be before they died by their hands.   
“It was unnecessary to kill him.”, Jongdae says in lieu of a reply, his voice snapping and Minseok’s eyebrows shoot up on his face, disappearing behind the fringe of his dark hair that falls soft into his forehead.   
“Unnecessary?”, Minseok repeats slowly, the thick leather-bound book in his hands snapping shut with a deafening sound, his mouth twisting into a cruel, angry line. “Why do you think it was unnecessary to kill him? He asked for a duel until the death and I gave him death as he asked for. Would have been more honorable for him to lose and still be alive?”  
“This is  _ not  _ a matter of honor, Minseok.”, Jongdae hisses, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, groaning when the world swims out of focus, stretching wide around him, his fingers coming up to grip the side of his head as he squeezes his eyes shut in sudden pain.   
“Would you tell him the same too, Jongdae?”, Minseok asks behind him and even though he sounds genuinely curious, there is something perilous lacing into his voice - the sharp edge of a knife balancing on the pad of a finger.   
“Or would you congratulate him on slitting my throat?”  
“Don’t be stupid.”, Jongdae shoots back with a withering glare over his shoulder, the edges of his vision blurry with the motion of turning his neck. “An eye for an eye and the world goes blind. Killing each other won’t help us, now.”  
“I am thinning out my flock. Separating the wheat from the chaff, if you will.”  
Minseok waves a bored looking hand at him, but his vision stays sharp on Jongdae, his eyes shining like pits of swirling oil - wet and sticky and dangerously close to catching fire. 

“We are neither your flock, nor your wheat and chaff.”, Jongdae hisses, pushing himself off the bed to stride over to the pitcher of water by the far wall, feeling Minseok’s eyes resting on him with every step he takes. The crawling underneath his skin pricks against his scalp, against the back of his neck and he nearly drops the pitcher when he takes a look down at his own hands, white and bony against the brown of the clay.  His skin looks as thin as paper, the bones shining through where they are lined with sinew and purple veins, throbbing with each startled breath he takes. They are coiling underneath his flesh, like roped pulled taut, disappearing into the lines of his muscles and appearing again where his skin is thin in the crook of his elbow. There are grains of sand stuck to his upper arm, pressed so deeply into his skin, they seem to come from inside him. His fingers brush against them, hesitant and rough against the suddenly tender flesh, lungs filling with a breath of horror when the sand burrows deeper into him, the skin stitching shut where little wells of blood are dotted across his biceps.   
“It’s scary, isn’t it?”, Minseok whispers from the other side of the room, voice carried over to Jongdae by the high ceiling and bare walls, echoing through his head as if the other man screamed them into his ear.   
“I was scared.”, the god goes on, still seated on his chair beside the bed, feet propped up against the edge of the mattress. “I was so frightened when it started… I thought I lost my mind.”  
“Haven’t you?”, Jongdae asks back, head tilted down to watch the flex of his fingers against the pitcher, the way his sinews seem to pull so taut, he thinks he could easily break the earthen pot into tiny shards if only he would try to close his fist.   
“Lost my mind?”, Minseok repeats, sounding amused and then heaving a sigh. “Maybe. The real question is, though, are you going to lose your mind, my dear old friend? Are you going to lose your faith because I killed a single man?”  
“One man never sleeps alone in a shallow grave.”,  Jongdae says as he slowly turns to face the other, pitcher still in hand, the clay slowly splintering under his iron grip. “A single drop of blood never changes anything, Minseok.”  
“No.”, Minseok slowly agrees with a tilt of his head, eyes flickering down across his face and over his veiny, purpled arms. “But you already knew that.”  
“Minseok.”, Jongdae simply states then, tone a warning and a plea at once - and yet the other doesn’t even blink, only looks at him with one corner of his mouth slowly raising into a crooked, lazy smile.   
“Do not betray me, brother. I will not hesitate to crush you.”  
  
The pitcher breaks, eventually. 

 

The baths are silent, only the sound of the gurgling water reflecting off of the walls and little alcoves, deserted but still filled with the lingering heath of the day. The smell of soaps and oils is nearly overpowering, throbbing across his temples when Jongdae sinks down into the soothing water, letting it wash around his naked body like a mother’s embrace. He almost wishes it would be a different embrace - one not cold but heated and yet just as soothing as the touch of water across his bruising skin. It’s a second of weakness, barely there and yet lingering on his tongue as if he wants to say Baekhyun’s name out loud instead of dancing around it - around the feeling of his bed suddenly empty next to him even though it was him, choosing this.   
“Sometimes I wonder.”, Yixing suddenly says behind of him, nearly having him jump out of his own skin as the other assassin steps into the water, muscled thighs disappearing in the dark, nearly black floods, moonlight dancing across his features. “If you’re going to be the same as him.”  
“What do you mean?”, Jongdae asks and tries not to notice how his voice wavers, how hollow his question sounds to his own ears with the way Yixing’s gaze seems to linger on his face. On the purple webbing beneath the surface.   
“Minseok.”, Yixing simply states as if it wasn’t obvious before, running a wet hand through his hair and tussing the strands until they slip out of their braid and fall across his shoulders and neck. They are long, at this time of the year - long enough to fall into the space between his shoulders.  “I wonder if you’re going to be just a violent and monstrous as him.”  
“He isn’t.”, Jongdae replies softly, scrubbing a hand down his arm as if he can get rid of the lingering feeling of grains stuck in his skin. “Not really, Yixing.”  
The other man pauses, turning his head away as he wades across the pond, carefully feeling for one of the benches opposite of Jongdae before he sinks down onto it, his arms crossing over his chest.   
“If I were to break Baekhyun’s lovely little spine”, he starts and there is a flash of color in his eyes when Jongdae’s shoulders tense, his whole body going rigid where he is leaned against the wall, water washing up against his chin. “Wouldn’t you think of me as cruel?”

“Not if it was an accident.”

“An accident.”, Yixing spits out, baring his teeth in a snarl before his nostrils flare with a deep, calming breath.   
“The wounds I stitched together on Jongin’s back were  _ not  _ an accident, Jongdae, and we both know it. We are aware of what our oh so righteous god did to Jongin.”  
“You’re being delusional in your anger.”, Jongdae hisses back, shooting a nervous glance over his shoulder, his body pushing away from the wall and towards the other assassin in an attempt to keep their voices as quiet as the echoing baths allow them to be. “And I would be-”  
“Careful, hm?”, Yixing interrupts him with a bitter smile, his head shaking only subtly in disbelief. “Are we all so scared of him, now? He used to be my friend too, Jongdae. I am not scared to face him.”  
“You should be.”, Jongdae replies silently, voice steeled and sure. “And you should be just as scared to face me with those hateful words, Yixing.”  
Yixing only smiles at him, all sweet and taunting, his eyes shaping into crescent moons and Jongdae wonders, not for the first time, how they would look if they were not longer a deep, rich brown.   
They sit in silence, moments ticking by with the sound of softly splashing water, Yixing’s head leaned back against the stone behind him, eyes trained on the open ceiling above their head.   
Jongdae has never been particularly fond of chatter, choosing silence over pointless conversations and yet - sitting here with Yixing in the dark, vacant baths - he suddenly remembers a house, equally as dark and feeling just as deserted. His mind strays to Baekhyun’s voice, to the sound of it as it shaped the syllables of his name for the first time, his questions and threats and his small, hard fists and surprisingly strong punches.   
It’s easy to remember Baekhyun’s lips, their soft slope and his hands in Jongdae’s hair, but each of those memories feels like a knife cutting into his skin, twisting deep inside his stomach and he huffs out a frustrated breath, dragging his hand down his face in exasperation - almost as if he is able to wipe away those dangerous thoughts away with the water clinging to his skin.   
“Do you…”, Yixing starts just the second the noise leaves Jongdae’s lips, his head tilting against wet stone, his gaze dragging over the other’s form as if he is nothing but a shadow - a thought, fleeting and pale in the light of a sleep drunk morning. “Regret sending Baekhyun away?”  
“It’s better this way.”, Jongdae answers without a beat of silence lingering between them, practiced and easy. “And-”  
Yixing straightens, his head snapping upward and his torso tilting forward as if he’s ready to jump at him if Jongdae all but moves. He freezes, staring back at his friend with alert eyes, muscles tensing as if he’s awaiting an attack.   
But instead of moving further, Yixing only stares at him with his features twisted in something that is almost confusion.   
“That’s not what I meant.”, he says, cutting and harder than Jongdae has ever heard him speak.  Jongdae stares back, one hand on the edge behind him, ready to swing himself out of the water as if his body is moving on its own, fingers clutching at wet marble.   
“So he’s better off dead than here?”, Yixing asks and his words flow cruel down Jongdae’s spine, like boiling hot water poured over his head and into his mouth. “Godhood truly must-”  
“What are you talking about?”, Jongdae cuts him off, a sudden spark of panic exploding in his stomach, having him tremble from head to toe.   
'“Is your hatred on Minseok so big, you hate me as well? Do you hate us so much, after all of this? After all we’ve been through?”  
“Jongdae. I don’t hate you.”, Yixing whispers and he sounds so horribly broken - so terrified with a knowledge beyond Jongdae’s understanding - he could as well have punched him.   
"Jongin sent him to the mountains, Jongdae. You know nobody ever returns from there. I- I was under the impression it was your order to sent him there.”  
“I would never.”, Jongdae gets out through a throat that suddenly feels dry and tight, ashes on his tongue and  smoke in his eyes, burning. “Yixing that can’t be true.”  
“Chanyeol already confirmed his arrival.”, the other assassin breathes out, face stricken with grief so old, Jongdae wished he would never see this expression on his friends features ever again.   
Jongdae is up and out of the water before Yixing’s words ring out across the water, following him down the hallway as he flees the scene, tries running from the guilt, crushing him.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DOUBLE UPDATE PLEASE READ CHAPTER THIRTEEN FIRST

The movement comes so fast, Baekhyun barely has time to take a step backwards, his lower back colliding with a stack of crates as he bends his body inwards, trying to evade the strike of the rough, ragged blade Kyungsoo pulled from beside the forge. It nicks his tunic, ripping through the fabric with a horrible sound, the upper flap of his sash caught by the edge. It throws him off kilter, his hands automatically flying to his hidden dagger - but Kyungsoo is already there, stepping into his personal space and grabbing him by the wrist, twisting it with horrible strength, thumb pressing into the space between his own and his index finger. It hurts, but Baekhyun has trained long enough to not fight the grip on his hand but twist with it, his whole body turning when Kyungsoo tries to bend his arm to the side. He slips out of the hold easily, Jongdae’s angry commands echoing through his mind as if the other assassin were with him, screaming at him to move.  He makes for his weapon again, the torn sash wrapping around his fingers and he curses, kicking backwards when he feels Kyungsoo moving behind him. His foot is dodged with a perfectly aimed punch to his shin, having him stumbling and nearly crashing against the wall before he spins and barely ducks underneath a strike to his throat, the blade missing him only by pure luck.  Baekhyun’s heart is hammering in his chest as he barely catches the other man’s punch, refracting it to the side and yet it is evident Kyungsoo is trained just as well as him, stronger from the years working the steel - his muscles bulging across his arms where Baekhyun’s own are subtle and sculpted for quicker movements. He kicks out again, aiming for Kyungsoo’s side with the width of his leg, catching him off guard when he turns just before his foot lands, a punch thrown against the smith’s chest with the force of his momentum.  It has them both tumbling across the smithy, Kyungsoo’s back hitting the anvil, knocking the hammer to the ground. But his grip on his knife is still strong, he’s too quick for Baekhyun to throw himself on top of the other man and he hisses in pain when Kyungsoo’s foot catches against his kneecap, nearly breaking it with the strength of his legs. The smith is up and on his feet before Baekhyun has breathed through the pain, his knife singing through the air in a horrible arch, slicing through the fabric and skin across Baekhyun’s chest. He growls in pain and annoyance, grabbing for the other’s arm and catching it just above the elbow, using Kyungsoo’s own movement against him to throw him forward and into the wall, ripping at his arm until he hears the socket of his shoulder pop and the man cry out.  There is a sound from inside the house just as Baekhyun manages to wrestle the knife out of Kyungsoo’s hold, fingers clammy and slippery with his own blood and they spin, hands knocking into each other as they fight for control over the knife. It’s Baekhyun who comes out on top, the blade too thick in his grasp and the blade still unbalanced and yet it’s sharp enough to sink into Kyungsoo’s side - once, twice - and sending the smith to the ground just by the door, pressing a desperate hand to the blood gushing out of his stomach. 

“Stop!”, a sudden voice cries from the door and Baekhyun freezes, his eyes flying up to the doorway just in time to see the smith’s wife throw herself across her husband, body shielding his with her own.   
“Yerim, go back inside.”, Kyungsoo is gritting out through bloody teeth, groaning when she presses both her hands to he wound in his side, shaking her head angrily while she stares up at Baekhyun with wide, teary eyes.   
“Stop.”, she breathes out desperately, holding out a pleading hand up at him. “He’s not the one you want, assassin… You’re here because of what I did.”  
“Yerim.”, her husband warns her, his voice breaking with pain and defeat. “Don’t.”  
“Let her speak.”, Baekhyun snaps at him, tossing the bloody, roughly forged knife to the side with disgust, wiping his fingers carelessly down his thigh. “She’s trying to save your life.”  
The woman on her knees takes in a shuddering breath, her hand balling into a fist on her husband’s stomach as the other falls lifelessly to her lap, her eyes flickering over Baekhyun’s face and then to the bloody gash on his chest, the red of his sash and black of his robes.   
“You’re here because of what I told the brotherhood, aren’t you? That we would not trade the secrets of our forge with strangers.”, she whispers, her eyes falling shut in defeat, Baekhyun’s head cocking to the side in confusion.   
“No.”, he slowly says then, confused as she opens her eyes to stare up at him with a horrified look on her features. “Tell me what you did, woman.”  
She breathes in again, but this time the breath is steady and determined, as she slowly gets up from her husband’s side, holding up both her hands as she slowly walks sideways, over to where a crate overflowing with paper stands by the side of the door - scrolls of paper and letters sealed with wax strewn across the floor from where Baekhyun and Kyungsoo stumbled into the stack of wooden boxes. Kyungsoo doesn’t move, even when Baekhyun turns his body sidewards just slightly, his hand pushing into the folds of his sash to grip his dagger, eyes flickering back and forth between Yerim and her husband on the ground, shoulders straight and chin raised as he braces himself for another attack. She doesn’t come back with a weapon and when she turns instead of a weapon, she is holding a neatly folded piece of parchment, sealed shut with black wax. 

The letter is bloody with little dots of her grip as she hands it over to him hesitantly, quickly stepping backwards when her gaze falls onto his other hand, hidden in his sash.   
“Two weeks ago”, Yerim starts slowly as Baekhyun unfolds the paper to read the letter, eyes scanning across the words even as she talks. “This letter from the brotherhood arrived, asking for Kyungsoo to share the secrets of his forge with a stranger from the southern realms. The man- this man who came to deliver the letter was not a member of the creed.”  
“Yerim, that’s enough.”, Kyungsoo tries from the ground again, dragging his body backwards until he’s leaning against the wall, blood still seeping out from between his fingers and turning the ground underneath him wet and dark. “He-”  
“He is here to kill you because of this, Kyungsoo.”, Yerim snaps and turns back to Baekhyun, wringing her hands together in a desperate plea.   
“He was not one of us, assassin. So I sent him away. The craft of our blades is passed on from generation to generation. It was always like that. The creed forbids us from talking about it to outsiders.”   
Baekhyun is the one sucking in a breath then, the paper in his hand nearly crumbling when his eyes fall onto the signet underneath - a rune edged into the parchment with a burning coal.   
He’s seen it before, on the letter sending him here.   
  
“What did the man look like?”, he asks silently, slowly folding the paper back together as neatly as it was before, head tilting up to meet the woman’s gaze with burning eyes. “Who was it?”  
She hesitates then, reluctantly looking down at her husband who shakes his head ever so slightly and yet she whispers: “He was tall, wearing assassin’s robes. But his eyes… his eyes were blue.”  
“My wife sent him away and told him no.”, Kyungsoo says from the floor, groaning when he tries to sit up a little straighter. “And now you are here to tell us… tell us we betrayed the brotherhood.”  
“I was wrong.”, Baekhyun breathes out, throat suddenly feeling as if someone shoved a knife past his windpipe, panic shifting his insides. “It me who betrayed the brotherhood… just now. I’m sorry.”  
He turns on his heel then, freezing when the smith calls out to him: “Did they really send you to kill me? Did I really fall from grace?”  
“No.”, Baekhyun shakes his head, stuffing the letter into the folds of his tunic. “It is the brotherhood who fell from grace, not you. And I forgot what… what my master taught me.”  
He leaves with heavy steps, not daring to turn back and look at the smith and his wife as he leaves their shop, stopping only by the door to say:   
“I can not ask you to forgive me, smith. All I am asking of you now… is to be ready when they come again.”

 

Chanyeol nearly falls off the stool in his garden when Baekhyun comes bursting through the door, slamming the letter down on the low table in front of the other man, leaving crimson smears across the polished wood and paper.   
“Who does this rune belong to?”, he demands and Chanyeol shoots him a puzzled look, eyes wide and confused. “Tell me who this rune belongs to.”  
“What?”, Chanyeol makes, reaching for the letter with slow fingers, eyes flickering to the gash across Baekhyun’s chest and the blood on his fingers. “What happened to you?”  
“That is not important, now.”, he snaps and the other man reels back, unfolding the letter without looking down at it, forehead creasing in confusion.   
A part of Baekhyun wants to plead with the other assassin, wants to beg him to not stall his answer but tell him and not sit there in silence, furrowing his eyebrows and creasing his forehead as he stares down at the bloody piece of parchment between his long, scarred fingers.  It takes the other man a couple of minutes so let his eyes travel over the words written in neat little characters across the paper, all the way down to the rune burned into the bottom, long edges painted by an elegant hand.   
“You mean this one?”, Chanyeol asks into the silence, letting the top of his index rest against the coal as he looks back up at Baekhyun, whose heart is hammering so loud in his chest, he is sure Chanyeol must be able to hear it.   
“Are you sure you don’t know who it belongs to?”  
“If I were sure, I wouldn’t need to ask.”, Baekhyun hisses and winces when the wound in his chest twinges with the pull of his skin, the intake of breath flowing through him like pricking needles.   
“Baekhyun.”, Chanyeol starts slowly as he pushes the paper away from himself, almost as if he’s scared it would bite him. “This… is the seal of a high rank master of the brotherhood. It doesn’t belong to only one person. It’s either the creed master’s rune, the prophet’s or the voiceless guardian’s. Who gave this letter to you?”  
“The prophet. Jongin.”, Baekhyun breathes out and he feels as if someone reached into his chest and pulled his heart out form between his ribs, crushing it slowly. He should have never left the temple. 

 

“Did you send Baekhyun to the mountains?”, Jongdae nearly yells as he bursts through the entrance of the inner temple, the door crashing into the wall by the force of his entering. Jongin looks up from his book, bent low over a table to be able to let his fingers travel over the ridges in the paper to read, a single candle lit on the table next to him, casting long shadows across his face that seem to pool in the hollows of his features and throat, even though he doesn’t need the light. The prophet blinks, only once as he slowly leans back into his chair, pushing the book away from himself, lips pursing while he stares up at Jongdae in front of him, breathing heavily.   
“Good evening, Jongdae.”, he says then instead of an answer and Jongdae feels as if the other man slapped him across the face. He looks so calm, so serene in the golden glow of the candle on the table, now flickering between them with the breeze of Jongdae’s angry breaths.   
“I asked you a question.”, Jongdae grits out with balled fists, feeling the anger twist inside his stomach like a hot, wrought iron. “Answer me.”  
“Is the answer not obvious?”, Jongin asks him back and he still sounds too calm, his blind eyes looking directly into Jongdae’s own, as if he’s able to see him.   
“Are you trying to kill him?”, he spits out and this time, Jongin looks confused, one of his eyebrows arching up high on his forehead and nearly disappearing underneath the fringe of his soft, black hair.   
“Not at all.”, he gives back slowly, puzzlement lacing through his words all too obviously now. “I warned him about the mountain area, Jongdae. I told him where he is going and that no one returned from there for years now. Why are you asking?”

“He is an untrained assassin, Jongin! I asked you to send him away, not to cart him to off to a executioner. You could as well have plunged a knife into his chest right then and there!”, Jongdae bellows out and Jongin grunts, his head jerking to the side as if he’s trying to contain his anger.   
“ _ You  _ asked me to send him away.”, the prophet replies heatedly and Jongdae almost lunges across the table to strangle him. “I only gave him a mission of great importance. I can not consider your wishes all the time, brother. If I did, I would have hundreds of members lining up at my door asking for a different mission.”  
“Jongin-”  
“Jongdae.”, the other interrupts him sternly and leans forward in his seat, blind eyes traveling up the length of his body and to his face, eyes just a little off to the side.   
“If I would think Baekhyun isn’t able to come back from there, I wouldn’t have sent him.”  
“You sent him to his death, Jongin.”, Jongdae insists scaldingly,  eyes trained down onto the man who cocks his head to the side with a soft shake, a puff of air falling off his plump lips.   
“And all of this during times of mistrust. How am I supposed to-”  
“Are you calling  _ me  _ a traitor now, brother?”, Jongin cuts him off with a snarl and Jongdae halts, nearly takes a step back at the sudden anger dancing across the prophet’s features. “Me, of all people?”  
“I asked you to keep Baekhyun safe and you sent him right into the most dangerous area of this continent. You sent him to a paladin, Jongin. He can not win this. Perhaps I am calling you a traitor, yes.”, he whispers back and Jongin growls, slamming a hand down on his table.   
“How  _ dare  _ you accuse me?”, the other man hisses out, his entire face twisting with a rage so cleanly cut, Jongdae thinks he’s looking at someone else than his brother - someone with a soul so dark, they could never be the organ of the  
gods. “After all I did for you and your little  _ Baekhyun? _ After all we’ve been through together, Jongdae? Did I gauge my own eyes out because I was planning on undermining the fundament of our entire existence?”

“I-”

“You!”, Jongin snarls, pushing himself backwards so his chair is squeaking across the marble floor. “You don’t know what I sacrificed to keep all of you safe. I am the only reason you are still alive, brother. If not for me, Minseok would have wiped out the entire temple the day he came back. I am the only person keeping him in check and you  _ know  _ this. I am not the one holding a grudge here. Maybe you are. What if I believe what they whisper about you, Jongdae? Have you thought about that? What if I didn’t know, what I know and thought you’re the traitor in here? What would stop me from calling for Minseok right here and right now and have him rip the head off your shoulders as if you are nothing more than a fly underneath my palm?”  
“Are you threatening me?”  
“Are  _ you  _ not threatening me?”, Jongin bites back and points a finger at him, right at his heart where its beating so harshly, he can feel it thrumming against the hollow of his throat. “Be glad I love you, my brother, or else I wouldn’t have let you do what you’ve been doing all this time. Now get out.”  
“I can’t trust you if you’re the one giving him this order.”, Jongdae whispers and the words burn in his throat like acid - like he’s swallowing poison. “Jongin. Tell me it wasn’t you.”  
“It wasn’t me.”, Jongin shoots back without a beat of silence falling into the space between them. “Now get out. I don’t want to feel you breathing around me anymore.”

 

Morning comes with the light of a sun of crimson, the horizon above the desert bathed in a light so deep, the dunes look as if someone slit heaven’s throat and spilled its blood across the sand.   
The breath Minseok takes feels like fire in his lungs, his fingers brushing over the sand underneath his palms and pressing into the grains until they are digging into his skin painfully hard, the stone of the temple’s roof underneath almost ice cold to his touch. He wishes he could close his eyes, block out the light of the rising sun as it climbs higher into the sky, washing away the tender touch of the night and the shadow of his imagination as he stares out across the desert. Sometimes he wishes the sun would stay hidden underneath the blanket of darkness, as if there is nothing soothing about the touch of gold it paints across them all. To some, night might be dangerous - shadows lurking at every corner, whispered voices scheming while the world around them sleeps. But to him, it was always the light of the sun that brought forth the beasts that rip into the fabric of trust holding the world together.  Only then they lied, spread their venom with smiles too innocent, words too placating to be true.  It was always the darkness that brought forth what truly lies underneath.   
He sighs, reaches for his throat, fingers closing around the smooth metal of the small locket dangling just at his collar, securely shut to contain the braid of white and black hair hidden inside.   
“The world breaks, if there is no balance holding it in place.”, he hears his own voice whisper through his head, as if the words were said a thousand years ago.   
“Maybe we are not worth existing, if we don’t preserve what we’ve been given.”  
“It is the judgement of blind men who breaks this world apart, not your failure.”, was the answer to his worries - a simple sentence that threw his entire faith off its axis and Minseok smiles to himself as he remembers them - remembers the gentle hand wrapping around his own, small and soft. “And it is the world that corrupts what was good before. Who blinds men who were once good at heart.”  
It seems so long ago to him now, as he watches the sun rise for what should be last time above the world they have created for themselves to live in without even knowing so.   
How could they serve the world as the gods want them to, if all they do is fight each other? Or fight the wrong people, while there is a wound festering in the very heart of the only home he ever knew.   
“Brother.”, Joohyun’s soft voice comes from beside him and he looks up at her pale, heart-shaped face, bathed in the crimson morning light. “I… am sorry.”  
“What for?”, Minseok asks silently, feeling his lips stretch into a gentle smile as he reaches out for her, tucking a lock of her unruly black hair behind her ear where it slipped out of the loose twist she wears on the back of her head today, fringe falling across her brows. “Is there something you should be sorry for, little one?”  
She smiles, sad and nearly broken and Minseok can’t help but to notice the dark circles underneath her eyes, the imprint of a kiss against the side of her throat, or the way her fingers tighten in her lap where they are twirling a silver ring around the tip of her index. “I feel like I failed you. We… lost Tao because of my foolish… need to be loved.”  
Minseok sighs out a breath of laughter, shaking his head at her as he covers her trembling hands with one of his own, his body tilting to the side so he can tip her chin up with his other hand, their eyes locking. She still looks so much like their mother, Minseok feels his heart ache at the sudden memory of loving kisses to his raven locks, of his mother’s fingers tenderly cupping his cheeks when he cried bitter tears of shame as the other children of the temple shunned him for his black eyes while all of their own were still brown and rich with color.   
“Are you human?”, he asks her and Joohyun’s eyes flicker, the black of her gaze expanding and shrinking back in on itself. “Were you born into this world human, Joohyun? There is a heart beating in your chest as long as you are alive and it is human desire to be loved. There is no shame in that.”  
“Is that what you tell Jongdae as well?”, she whispers and he drops his hand from her chin, leaning back to turn towards the desert once more, tongue wetting over his bottom lip.   
“That… is different, Joohyun. There is always a difference between the need to be loved and finally accepting that you need… someone worth fighting for in your life.”, he breathes out as silently as he can, his eyes falling shut for a couple of seconds. “A man without reason is nothing but a weapon. And weapons kill without reason or sanity.”  
“Is this what he is to you?”, she replies and she sounds so sad, her voice is almost exactly as their mother’s - always so sad while she watched her children play, growing up without a father who could have taught them how to love while she could do nothing but teach them how to fight and survive.  
“A weapon without reason or sanity?”  
“If he were, we wouldn’t have this conversation right now.”, Minseok answers her after a beat of silence, words falling off his lips careful and slow. “Are you here to talk about this?”  
“I don’t know.”, Joohyun confesses eventually, her fingers still turning the ring around her finger over and over again. “I just felt… like I failed you. I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with one of them.”  
“Perhaps it was fate, then.”, Minseok smiles at her as he turns his head to look at her again, eyes crinkling at the corners where the purple of his veins seems nearly red with the glowing desert around them. “Maybe it’s exactly what was supposed to happen, Joohyun. If not for you and your love for that healer, things would have gone down a different path.”

“Is it the right one thought, brother?”, she mutters and he lifts a shoulder, touching the locket around his neck with the tips of two fingers, choosing silence.   
“You will probably tell me that no one ever knows if they are walking down the right path.”, she muses next to him, stretching her legs so they are dangling off the side of the roof, her feet bumping into the stone underneath, naked toes spreading apart. “You’re always cryptic like this.”  
She reaches for him then, her small fingers wrapping around his own and twining into the spaces between, squeezing. He allows her to hold his hand, even when the black of his sand starts to lace into the gaps between their hands, pooling into the hollows of her knuckles, burrowing into her skin and drawing blood. And yet she doesn’t pull away, only grips his fingers tighter as she scoots closer towards his side to rest her head against his shoulder. She still seems so small next to him, like the frail little child always hanging off of his legs and arms when they were little, demanding her brother’s attention no matter how hard he tried to push her away.   
“Are you ever scared of the things to come?”, she wants to know eventually, her voice so small Minseok is afraid there are tears on her cheeks. “Are you ever scared, Minseok?”  
“I died, so many times in my life.”, he replies hesitantly. “And I’ve never been scared for myself. Never for my own soul or body.”  
“That was not my question.”, she smiles against his shoulder, the raven feathers stitched to his robes tickling across her cheekbone and catching on her long eyelashes. “So I’ll take that as a yes.”  
Minseok only smiles, brushing his thumb over the rough skin surrounding one of her knuckles, his head tilting to rest on top of her own.   
The words “I’m sorry” linger in his head as they watch the sun rise and the crimson smooth away into gold. 

 

Tension, Minseok thinks as he lets his eyes travel over the room, can do strange things to people.  In front of him, the few people gathered are wary, shifting in their seats around the throne he is seated on, Hangeng’s eyes flickering back and forth between Jongin and Yixing, before landing on Minseok again. They all seem tense where they are sitting, Yixing’s hand gripping Jongin’s arm so tightly, his fingernails are leaving bloody welts in the prophet’s skin.   
“Does one of you have anything to tell me?”, Minseok asks slowly and watches as Seungwan tenses, her shoulders drawing up towards her neck as if to shield it from his gaze. “Anybody?”  
“You are the one calling us here instead of attending the devotions.”, Yixing says with a withering glare in his direction, Jongin next to him clicking his tongue ever so silently. “Is it not you, who has something to tell us?”  
“Perhaps.”, Minseok smiles at him, his gaze traveling away from the other man’s face and over the row of people gathered around him in a neat circle of chairs. “I’m just trying to provide the chance for a confession without violence.”  
“A confession.”, Yuna echoes from her seat, her long slender legs neatly crossed, her foot bobbing up and down in front of her. “So you’re expecting this traitor to simply step forward?”  
“I am.”, Minseok nods with the same pleasant smile he gave Yixing, looking at his sister and then to the blind prophet on the other side of the circle. “I have gathered enough proof to call the traitor forward to be judged, but I am giving them one last chance to hand themselves over before the consequences of their doing affect more people than just them.”  
“Are you threatening the entire brotherhood now, boy?”, Sungmin snarls from his right and Minseok turns his head to look at his former teacher, asserting him with a long, hard glance. He’s one of the eldest, blood brother to Jaejoong and yet his stance is relaxed, his body leaned comfortably into the chair. He came back just days before, his skin marked with the runes of the Delta and Minseok wonders for a second if he would have stopped him from killing Jaejoong, if only he had been there. 

“Am I?”, he asks right back with a grin so wicked, Sungmin’s entire face freezes.   
“What will you do if I say yes? What will all of you do now if I tell you I will burn this temple to the ground and kill every single one of you without batting a single eyelash?”  
“You are insane.”, Yuna whispers and makes to get up from her chair, stopping in sudden shock when Minseok directs his eyes back at her, a growl leaving his lips where they bare his teeth. “Sit. Down.”  
“Why don’t you tell us who it is and we-”  
  
“The traitor is in this room with us.”, Minseok cuts Yixing off harshly an the assassin grimaces, his beautiful face twisting in something ugly, filled with pure hatred. “And this is the last chance they will get for me to show mercy.”  
“Burn the temple down, then.”, Seungwan whispers into the space in front of her, head not turned in the slightest to look up at Minseok on his throne. “Do it. Kill us all.”  
“I do not intend to kill all of us.”, Minseok tells her with a wave of his hand, pushing himself out of his chair to step into the middle of the circle. “But I will not hesitate to slaughter every master, every student and every child in this temple who dares to betray me and the creed we all swore to follow. Is this what you want? For me to spill the blood of our brothers and sisters? Will you reveal yourself like a man, or allow others to die because you are a coward?”   
The room is cracking with tension by now and Minseok would be lying, if he would say he doesn’t enjoy it. He holds so much power over them - over each and every single one of them, staring up at him in fear and dread. Even his teachers, touched by time where he is still as young and powerful as he always was, tremble before him, now.   
“I came back because of you.”, he says as he slowly walks over to Yixing and Jongin, the prophet looking down at his lap with his white, scarred eyes. “Because I heard about your sins against our brotherhood.”   
Yixing is still snarling silently, like a wolf pushed into a corner and Minseok suddenly thinks of that horrible night when he spilled Jongin’s blood out of rage and terror and selfish, foolish hurt. He thinks of Yixing, holding Jongin’s unconscious, dying body in an embrace so tight, he could have killed his lover. It were his eyes, though, that spoke of the hatred he felt towards Minseok back then.   
“Leave.”, Yixing spat back then, his voice so calm it had scared Minseok. “Leave and don’t you dare return before you know who you are.”  
“It’s a shame.”, he whispers, running his fingers over Jongin’s cheek as he passes, hearing Yixing hiss at him through gritted teeth.   
“That the ones we trust me most, are the ones to cut us down and destroy us in the end. Isn’t that right, Jongin?”

“We are the best example for that, aren’t we?”, Jongin asks, sounding hollow and tired. “End this farce now, Minseok. I’m exhausted of your games.”  
“Well.”, he replies with a shrug, pivoting on his heel to point a finger at Seungwan, suddenly going rigid again in her seat. “Tell me something, sister. What did the paladin you killed in the order’s city state, tell our brother Jongdae?”  
“Where is he?”, Yuna asks suddenly, as if she only realized now that one of them is missing from their circle. “He’s an aspirant. Why is he not here in the circle of leaders?”  
“Our brother Jongdae is mourning a loss.”, Minseok smiles at her so sweetly, it is twisting his insides. “Seungwan, I asked you a question.”  
She hesitates, steeling herself visibly with her hands protectively held in front of her now visibly swollen stomach, her chin rising as she looks over at the god in their middle, lips pursed.    
“The paladin Baekhyun and Jongdae killed told him… told him it was a trap. The mission he was sent on to kill that heretic preaching in the streets.”, she breathes out then and Minseok inclines his head, almost as if he’s thanking her for her honesty.   
“Very well.”, he whispers and his words carry across the room as if he screamed them. “And who was the one sending him there? I wasn’t here when it happened. Someone  _ please  _ be kind enough to fill me in on the details.”  
“Why is it of any importance?”, Sungmin asks suddenly and Minseok holds out a hand to him, silencing the other master, who simply continues: “Do you not already know who it was?”  
“I do.”, he shrugs, opening his mouth to speak just when the doors fly open with a crash so loud, it has all the masters jumping from their chairs, turning towards the entrance.   
Baekhyun, frazzled and out of breath, skin raw from the sun of the desert, stands there starting at all of them with heaving breaths, gasping as he tries to speak.   
“What are you doing here?”, Hangeng demands angrily, leaning heavily onto his cane. “This is a master’s meeting you’re not-”  
“I know who it is.”, Baekhyun gets out through his bated breaths, eyes trained on Minseok with intend. “I know who the traitor is. I know who tried to -”  
“Oh, I already know.”, Minseok interrupts him amusedly, waving a hand at him. “Take a seat.”

“No!”, Baekhyun nearly screams at him instead of following the god’s orders, taking quick steps forward until he is standing in the middle of the circle, close enough to touch Minseok if only he wanted to.   
“You have to listen to me Minseok, before you make a grave mistake!”  
“Take a seat.”, Minseok repeats, tense and angry and yet Baekhyun doesn’t back down, just stares at him with eyes alight with fire.   
“You didn’t think Minseok would listen to an outsider like you, did you?”, Hangeng spits from where he stands just behind Minseok, voice dripping with poison.  
“You’re a member of the order. If anything, you are part of the treason happening in our middle.”  
“If _anything_ I am one of the only people left following the true creed.”, Baekhyun growls out while he spins on Hangeng, pushing past Minseok by pressing a hand against the god’s chest, having him take a step backwards in sudden, amused surprise. “I am not the one sending assassins to kill our own kind! I didn’t come for your secrets, nore am I lusting after immortality like some of us do!”  
“Us.”, Sungmin mutters behind them, shaking his head. “Now soldiers of the order call themselves one of our own. What have we become.”  
“I am as much an assassin, as I was an adept of the sons.”, Baekhyun replies with a grimace, turning his attention away for Hangeng for only a split second before he whirls on him again, stabbing a finger into the other man’s chest., hissing: “You always wished me ill. Now step aside so I can save the only home I ever had.”  
“What do you know about home?”, Hangeng gives back, slapping Baekhyun’s hand away angrily.   
“And what do you know about the brotherhood? You couldn’t even complete your first mission alone. Should I have sent Jongdae with you again, boy?”  
Baekhyun suddenly falls silent, his face freezing and then going slack as he takes a couple of steps backwards, breathing in harshly through his nose.   
Hangeng is breathing just as hard, staring at him with hate filled eyes, mouth set into a hard, grim line. 

“How…”, Jongin suddenly starts from his seat next to the throne, raising his head slowly from where he was staring blindly at his hands. “How do you know he didn’t complete his mission?”  
“That”, Yuna quips, leaning forward in her seat to search Hangeng’s eyes. “Is a very good question.”  
The creed master is silent, jaw setting in determination and his hold on the handle of his cane tightens, his shoulders squaring as he stares Baekhyun down, who trembles where he stands.   
“Because Mistress Red doesn’t condone the likes of us on her land, spilling blood.”, he breathes out and he looks defeated, his eyes flickering over to Jongin, who just stares at the wall on the other side of the room with a sudden, horrified look on his features, tears rolling down over the scarred skin surrounding his eyes.   
“Be quiet.”, Hangeng commands and Baekhyun opens his mouth to reply, but the creed master suddenly yells: “I said: _be quiet!_ You come back to his place without completing your kill and you dare to step in front of us all? Jongdae can not protect you forever, you worthless-”  
“Funny.”, Minseok suddenly speaks up again, standing next to this throne with wide, black-dripping eyes, fingertips drumming against the backrest of his chair. “How you just gave yourself away so mindlessly, creed master Hangeng.”  
“What are you talking about?”, Hangeng barks, turning to face the god standing behind him. “I didn’t give anything away. What is this nonsense you’re speaking of?”  
“It was you who gave me the letter.”, Jongin mutters, the silent tears rolling down his cheeks now dropping down onto his robes. “You told me to give it to Baekhyun if Jongdae asks me to send him away. And you… you knew what would happen there, didn’t you? You knew it would either result in Baekhyun’s death and therefor Jongdae’s mourning, making him an easy target to kill… or in him coming back to accuse me of being the traitor and Minseok would have-”  
“I wouldn’t have done anything.”, Minseok cuts him off short, sounding like a patient father and yet there is something to his voice, an edge of sharp fury, that has Baekhyun shivering.   
“Because I already knew it was him. He was the only one who knew what happened between you and me. Aside from the people involved in it. So I started asking around a little… and the last person Jaejoong was seen speaking to before challenging me was you, Hangeng.”  
“This is ridiculous.”, Hangeng snorts, but he stands rigid, eyes flickering back and forth between Minseok and the other masters around them. “That’s no proof.”  
“ _You gave me that letter!”,_ Jongin suddenly shouts and he seems as if he is about to try and get out of his chair, his voice snapping with his rage and obvious disappointment as Yixing struggles to keep him still in his seat. “You risked my life to protect your own! You’re the worthless one in here! Not Baekhyun, not anybody else! How _could_ you do that to us? We are family! The unity of the brotherhood is what keeps us strong and you-”  
“The brotherhood is nothing but a prison to me, you foolish child!”, Hangeng yells back, his face red and twisted, veins pulsing at his temples and he waves an angry hand at them all.   
“You of all people should understand what it is like to be chained down to this temple, never able to leave!”

“You are not chained down.”, Jongin sobs out, punching his right thigh. “You can walk and get up without help, Hangeng. You can leave the temple when ever you wish.”  
“I can’t!”, Hangeng snaps back, gripping the lapels of his shirt to rip it open, revealing the endless lines of runes inked into his skin.   
“Because I bear your precious creed on my skin and this temple is the prison my family has to endure for generations now.”  
“It is an honor to be creed master.”, Yuna says, horrified. “Hangeng, how could you say something like this? How could you say our home is a prison to you?”  
Hangeng whirls on her, sneering and releasing a bitter, wounded laugh. “Easy for you to say, sister.”  
"Tell me it isn’t true.”, Sungmin speaks up silently, still remaining calmly in his seat. “Say it is false.”  
“No.”, Hangeng shakes his head, still chuckling bitterly. “No I won’t. You would never understand my pain, even if I told you a thousand times. Why bother asking me, then?”  
“Because you are-”, Seungwan starts desperately, cut off by Minseok’s amused, nearly gleeful voice. 

“Isn’t it lovely you can admit your sins, just before you die?”

Hangeng scoffs, sending Minseok a withering glare. “What is it to you, false god? You’re not the one granting me freedom. The order is. So get it over with, child. Give me the death you call mercy.”  
Minseok stands there for a second, just looking out across the room as the tension finally snaps, the masters starting to talk, all at once. It’s a storm of voices, echoing out into the hallway through the still open door, Baekhyun standing right in the middle, staring back at Minseok with wide, frightened eyes.  It’s as if their voices grow louder by the second while Minseok holds Baekhyun’s eyes, his mouth slowly twisting into an angry snarl, his teeth bared as he takes a slow, measured step forward - just outside of the line of darkness that rises behind the throne like a black curtain.   
“Enough.”, he whispers into the noise, lifting an arm as if he is about to grab Hangeng by the shoulder, his fingers curving into hard, bony claws, even though there are still several feet separating him from the other man, who is still yelling at the other masters. He falls silent, suddenly, as if someone slapped him across the face, mouth still open and shaping words, even while dark fingers curl around his throat, wrapping around his neck like a black snake. It’s a glimmering thing, like water on top of oil, tiny scales of crystal where the darkness ripples and pulses with an invisible heartbeat. 

Yuna screams, first. 

It’s a high-pitched sound, horrified and like nails on stone, her hands clutching her own neck in time with Hangeng’s coming up to try and rip at the thing off of his throat, fingers slipping through the darkness as if it were nothing but smoke, even while his skin starts to purple underneath the touch.   
“I have enough of this.”, Minseok says quietly, voice so calm it paints such a stark contrast to the grimace on his face, the masters all fall silent in front of him, terrified like mice before a cat.   
“The brotherhood will get rid of this festering splinter in its flesh now.”  
He yanks his arm back then, Hangeng releasing a strangled sound as he slams to the ground, his feet swept out from underneath him by arms of black - like tiny tendrils shooting out from the ground and piercing into his body, pulling him backwards towards Minseok.  The god is silent while Hangeng begins to screech, clawing at the marble floor as if the tiny cracks could hold him, his fingernails splintering with the force that is pulling him back, blood smearing across the white stone as he is dragged across it.   
“No!”, he screams just as his feet are starting to vanish into the darkness behind the throne, crawling across his skin as something seems to yank him even deeper into the pitch black void, his expression so twisted in his horror, he barely seems to be human anymore.  He disappears with a piercing wail, his voice turning shrill as his yells echo through the suddenly grave-silent chamber, reflecting off the ceiling until it sounds as if a thousand voices are screaming. 

“Traitors!”, Baekhyun makes out between the screeching, syllables snapping with panic. “Traitors - you traitors! Curse your bloodli-”

He breaks off with a gurgling yell, the sound of ripping flesh making several masters gag and yet Baekhyun can’t turn his eyes away from Minseok’s throne and the blood that is starting to pool around the bottom of it, flowing into the cracks of the marble and seeping across the floor. There is a bone breaking so loudly it has Baekhyun’s stomach churning with the need to turn and vomit, the stench of blood suddenly so heavy in the air, he feels faint. And across it all, Minseok is laughing, his voice tumbling over itself with what Baekhyun can only describe as madness. Hurried steps, Baekhyun thinks, dizzy. People running down the hallway. Jongin sobbing somewhere behind the terror-filled haze of his own thoughts. The door is still open behind him, he realizes when he hears the running people push into the room, yelling out at the sight of the blood and the chaos left in the wake of Hangeng’s confession. Jongdae, Baekhyun whispers in his own head, nearly whirling around to face the crowd and look for the other’s familiar features - if only he could know then that he is safe.  
  
“Now.”, Minseok suddenly says over the noise of wet skin and tearing skin, and there is a laugh somewhere in his voice, rooting Baekhyun to the spot as if he pinned them all down with a needle.

“He can leave.”

Something is tossed out of the shadows, then, twisted and ugly and Baekhyun retches loudly when he realizes - a moment too late -   
it’s Hangeng’s body, bare of any skin and what is still clinging to his body is hanging off of him like the tattered remains of a disembodied robe.   
“What did you  _ do?”,  _ someone gasps in the crowd that seems to be torn between silence and chaotic voices. “What is going on here?”  
“I got rid of the traitor in our middle.”, Minseok sing-songs from where is stepping out of the dark, his black robes damp with blood and sweat, bloody tracks smeared down his face from desperate hands.   
“Brother.”, Joohyun says just behind Baekhyun, her voice breaking with tears. “This is-”  
“Cruel?”, Minseok asks her tenderly and Baekhyun nearly flinches away from the other’s voice. “Yes. What he did to us is cruel as well, little sister. Well.”  
The room shifts with his movement, then, the masters parting around him like water as he steps to the edge of the circle of chairs, looking down at them from the top with a smile on his lips that is nothing but cruel. Several younger students are crying, Baekhyun can spot Lalisa clutching Jimin’s arm so tightly, there are bruises forming on his skin, her whole body trembling with her sobbing.    
“I came back to my home left in ruins.”, Minseok says loudly, raising an arm and making people scramble away from him and into the safety of the crowd. “I swore to myself and someone dear to me to never return to these lands and this temple, only if I didn’t have another choice. And I didn’t. I left you all years ago because I trusted you enough and I loved you. Each and every one of you.”  
He pauses, holding out a hand to his sister - Joohyun’s gaze flickering over to Junmyeon by her side before lays her fingers into her brother’s hold, stepping up to his side.   
“I left behind my sister and brother’s and the person I loved.”, he continues then, his voice thundering over all of their heads and out into the hallway, where people are lingering on the threshold.   
“And I left behind my responsibilities, believing in the strength of the brotherhood I knew. The brotherhood I loved, who followed the creed and never needed an aspired to rule over them all. I was wrong. Look what I have returned to. Look what I had to do to shake all of you awake. You are nothing but  _ fools,  _ never questioning the masters. Seeking nothing but immortality through the blood of the tainted. You are a disgrace to the creed and you didn’t even know it, blind as you were. Now I have opened your eyes.”   
Another pause, this time so long, there are people shifting nervously at the bottom of the stairs, eyes flickering back and forth between Minseok and the masters behind him, who are still standing in silence like statues.   
“So I had no choice but to break my promises and return.”, Minseok says then and Baekhyun thinks he sounds almost sad. “To give you one last chance. One last choice. Step to the right if you can follow the true creed, or step onto the left. But be aware… that you are against me - against us, who live by the words of the creed and the teachings of the gods.”  
  
At first, there is nothing happening. 

The room seems frozen in stillness, unmoving and holding its breath.  It’s Seungwan who moves first, stepping around Minseok to stand just at the bottom of the stairs, just to his right. They all start moving, suddenly, as if she was the pebble to cause a landslide, voices rising as they start arguing and fighting in front of the god, who watches them with his head cocked to the side and unblinking, black eyes.   
“Soojung, please.”, Seungwan whispers just loud enough for Baekhyun to hear and he snaps to attention where he stands, his eyes flickering over to the two women standing only feet apart - Soojung on the left. “Please, don’t do this.”  
“I can’t, sister.”, Soojung smiles back and there are tears already gathering along her lashes. “I can not forgive him for what he did to my Jaejoong. He took my husband from me, from our daughter. And while I know I live by the creed, I will never stop fighting him. I will not rest until he is dead and buried and I’d rather die than be an enemy of the creed.”  
“Do you expect me to watch as you make the wrong choice?”, Seungwan cries out, nearly stepping towards the other woman, were it not for Sungmin’s strong hand wrapping around her upper arm, pulling her back into the line of assassins forming on the right. “Soojung-”  
“Let me make my own choices.”, comes the still smiling answer, tainted with tears.   
“We all make our choices.”, Minseok interrupts them softly, head turning to the side to look at Baekhyun from his peripheral. “What is your choice, little soldier?”   
“Jongdae.”, Baekhyun whispers back, trying to sound as if his heart isn’t thundering in his chest so loudly, he can barely hear his own voice. “Where is Jongdae?”  
  
Minseok only smiles, his eyes creasing at the corners, before he turns back towards the waiting crowd in front of him, breathing in deeply while he seems to be looking at each and every single one of them, standing on both sides of the rooms like two armies, ready to face each other.    
“It breaks my heart to see so many of you against me.”, he murmurs, chin tipping down before he looks up again, the smile gone from his lips as he snaps his fingers, only once. The sound is like the crack of a whip and Baekhyun watches as many students and masters alike wince, pushing away from where Minseok is standing above them.   
“Those who are not with me, are against me.”, the god adds then, so silently it is barely audible and yet his voice carries across them. He might as well have shouted the words, Baekhyun thinks.   
“A tyrant speaks those words, no leader.”, Kibum says from the back of the chamber and Minseok frowns, his eyebrows furrowing above his eyes.  “Seungwan.”  
The woman lifts her head, wiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand as he addresses her and the tears on her face are like daggers in Baekhyun’s chest. He thinks of Chanyeol, waiting by the mountains to return to her, be with her and their child - and suddenly he thinks that, perhaps, they will never be united.   
“Please leave.”, Minseok tells her sternly and she opens her mouth, snapping it shut again as she catches Joohyun’s eyes, who is still standing tall by her brother’s side. She only bows her head, then, ducking away into the mass of bodies surrounding her and Minseok watches as she leaves, heads turning and eyes following her retreating form until she flees out of the door, her face hidden in her hands and her sobbing carrying through the silent temple as if she is already mourning all of their lives. The quiet that follows her departure is so thick, Baekhyun feels like his skin is too tight, his gaze still frantically traveling over the assassins gathered in the room, hoping to catch just a glimpse of the other’s face. Only for a second, he begs without a sound. Only for a single second, please. 

“I’m sorry.”, Minseok speaks up again and the shadows behind the throne start writhing, something beating in Baekhyun’s stomach like drums in the distance. “I’m sorry.”  
The movement starts suddenly, a nervous wave ripping through the crowd and someone yells out in shock. Baekhyun follows the sudden tension like a dog on a leash, turning to where they are all staring - staring at the throne suddenly breaking in half with a deafening crack of splintering stone, shadows flowing to the ground like water and wafting up into the air again, disturbed by the motion that stirred the sudden wave of panic. The first thing Baekhyun feels is relief, his eyes finding Jongdae’s body emerging from the dark so effortlessly, it’s as if the other man called out his name - as teasing as he always does, taunting him to be better and better still. And yet, Jongdae isn’t looking back at him, his face nothing but a mask of smooth lines and angles, blood splattered from his forehead all the way down to his collarbones and across his armor.  The next thing flowing through him is terror - terror at the way Jongdae begins to smile. Wicked like the time he was still wiping Teuk’s blood off his blade. Terror at the other four who follow him, stepping around the broken throne that begins to crumble under the force that is slowly tearing the room apart.   
“Explain this!”, Baekhyun hears echo through the room and yet, while he knows he should turn and do something, he can’t. He can’t turn his gaze away from Jongdae and he suddenly feels ashamed of the relief that floods him at seeing Jongdae unscathed. Filthy with crimson, but unharmed.  He shouldn’t be, he thinks grimly while the room around him erupts into shouts and anger. But still, the gentle pulse of something all too familiar throbs through him, tinged with something that is bitter and just as angry as the voices around him.  Jongdae, standing there in a wide arch behind the god in their middle, is a testament of something Baekhyun didn’t want to address, didn’t want to think about. He knew about this and the realization has his mouth tasting sour. 

“Purge them.”, Minseok voice rips him out of his bitter thoughts and Baekhyun sees him turn away out of his peripheral, his face twisted as if he’s in deep, gut wrenching pain.   
It’s the sound a sword drawn out of sheath, that unleashes chaos inside the temple, one last time


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome to the last chapter of "Gods have no desire"!   
> Yes, you read that right! The last chapter! There is an epilogue that I will post AS SOON as I'm satisfied with it.   
> But this is finished as it is posted now, the epilogue is just a little extra on top. A big thank you to all the people who read this and commented or left kudos.   
> I think this is perhaps the most intricate story I ever wrote as a fanfiction and I hope you all enjoyed the journey as much as I did. (But if we're being honest, we are just borrowing their names and faces lol)  
> After nearly 200 pages (including the epilogue) it is honestly a little hard for me to let this story go. I'm thankful for all the people who were with me through this, especially my beta reader A, who talked me through my writer's blocks. And my big bro, also A, who sat down and listened to me whine and shuffle the story around until I was semi-satisfied with it. There is a bonus chapter of smut I will post, but it doesn't exactly tie into the story, so you don't have to read it if you're not interested in what happens when my beta sends me a sinful gif of Jongdae lmao.   
> Again, thank you for staying with me on this road and I'm looking forward to maybe see some of your names underneath my future projects!

It happens so fast, Baekhyun nearly misses it - Han’s slender, sinewy body throwing itself forward and down into the mass of bodies to the left, closest to him. His blade is nothing but a silver bow in the twilight of the room, the light reflected off the white sands outside throwing silver shadows across all their wide eyes and faces. The screaming starts like a thunderstorm, like the monsun that swallows up the order’s city state during the fall. It’s the moment Han’s dagger sinks into the soft flesh of Soojung’s stomach, sliding free with a sound so wet it makes Baekhyun feels sick, panicked sweat breaking out across his entire body and dampening through his tunic in seconds.   
The movement, the pure terror of seeing Han lunge at his own sister in arms, is as if the entire chamber explodes into screams and motion.The running starts when Soojung’s body hits the ground, Han stepping over her so quickly, he manages to grab the boy standing just behind her by the back of the neck, just as he turns to flee. A stab to the lower back, so clean it’s almost beautiful to watch.   
Baekhyun is pushed to the side by panicked hands, bodies starting to press into him from all sides as he stumbles down the two steps separating him from Minseok, who is still turned away, his head down and his hands balled by his sides into fists so tight, Baekhyun can see blood welling up between his knuckles, the god’s fingernails biting hard into his palms. 

“Stop this!”, he tries to yell over the chaos, the sound of feet on marble and the cruel knowledge of what is happening around him. “Minseok! Stop this!”

Jongdae appears by his side then, just an inch taller than the god in their middle and yet he seems so terribly giant in this moment, towering over the stampede forming in the grant hall, as some turn to run for their lives and others scramble for their weapons, trying to fight back against the predators coming their way. Jongdae looks almost regal, standing there next to Minseok, chin raised high and his eyes flickering back and forth over the tumult unfolding in front of him. And yet, there is something in his face that has Baekhyun turning against the tide of fleeing assassins, pushing back towards the throne and the bloodshed - towards Jongdae.   
He sees Minseok’s lips shape words, inaudible over the shouting and screaming and Baekhyun feels as if someone slapped him across the face with the back of a gauntlet as he tumbles, nearly falls to his knees as he slips in a puddle of blood. The air is pungent with sweat and blood, the sound of spilling innards slapping to the ground and the noise of breaking bones nearly blinding him and he sways, crashes into someone on the right and almost gets himself a bloody nose as they both flail for balance. He’s still yelling Minseok’s name, he realizes as he bites down on his own tongue, tasting copper. Still begging them to stop even while Sehun joins Han in the massacre, their bodies aligning so perfectly, they seem like a single being. And he can’t help but to ask himself if he looks the same, fighting alongside Jongdae. If they form such a deadly unity of blades and hands, like Sehun and Han do now, cutting through the crowd like a hot knife through paper - almost as if they simply don’t care whose blood they’re spilling next. And yet there seems to be a weird kind of precision in their movements, darting around some and throwing themselves at others even while they all try to flee to somewhere safe. 

“Please!”, Baekhyun screams and his voice rips apart, stinging in his throat like a knife pushed into his neck from one side to the other. “Minseok, please! Stop them!”

He’s pushed to the side once more, his feet catching on a fallen body and the momentum of his own movement throwing him to the ground, his hand brushing over something wet and soft - hair, damp with crimson. Out of his peripheral he sees Sooyoung and Taehyung sprinting towards the door, intercepting fleeing people, slicing them down like grass that slowly falls to the ground, almost as if someone stopped time around him. His head feels as if it’s filled with cotton, his tongue heavy in his mouth and tasting like iron. And above it all, Jongdae is still standing, waiting by Minseok’s side, who has his back turned to the slaughter by now.   
“Please.”, Baekhyun hears himself say as the last wave of assassins rips him towards the door - as if he is nothing more than a small nutshell boat, floating on blood. His throat hurts and yet he knows he is loud enough, when he finally shouts Jongdae’s name, the other’s head snapping in his direction, even while his body remains as still as stone.  Baekhyun loses track of things, loses track of time and place when he is washed out of the room and into the hallway, right into the wave of armed warriors now swarming in the direction of the grant hall.  And he knows that now, they have brought war over the temple and their brotherhood. 

 

“Go.”, Minseok’s voice cuts through the stillness of his mind - through this strange feeling that caught hold of him days ago, the buzzing under his skin as if the grains pushed into his muscles are moving inside of him. He does - and while he knows it’s out of free will, he can’t help but to feel like a dog cut off a leash, hungry for flesh and thirsting for death. His muscles are contracting almost painfully tight, legs pushing him forward faster than he ever moved and he reaches for his dagger even while he is already colliding with the force of the enemy that used to be people he trusted and even loved.  He snarls, twisting to the side when he is met with bared teeth and weapons, the fabric of his robes ripping apart with a slash aimed at his middle, his answering blow so strong, the blade slides through sinew, muscle and bone so quickly and hard, he cuts through the arm outstretched towards him before he even realizes what he’s doing. It’s Jin, he notes in the back of his head at the scream of pain filtering through the thundering of his own heartbeat. He ends it, just as quickly, reaching out for the boy’s face with both his hands and twisting his head to the side as hard as he can. His neck snaps like a dry twig under an iron boot.  The strength in his body seems to rejoice with glee at the blood now on his blade, at the way they spray apart like a flock of birds when he barrels into the mass of them, pulling at the darkness inside of himself to shroud them all in darkness, concealing the horror he has to bring upon them.

They have all chosen their fate.  
  
He did, when he gave himself over to Minseok’s matter and reasoning, accepted the truth he already knew for way too long and became a tool in the hands of something he himself is now as well.  And they did, too, when they chose to stand against them, knowing their wrongdoings and choosing immortality and selfishness over the truth of their creed and the vows they all gave to their gods.  There will be time for guilt and pain later, he thinks while he throws himself to the side and into a deadly embrace that leaves him vibrating and painting, his skin already shiny with sweat.  And yet, while his breaths are labored and his heart is hammering, there is no fatigue - no rush of adrenaline tiring him out and making his muscles ache with exertion.  Down the hallway they aren’t fighting. They’re just dying, some of them crying out for help and some others begging for their lives, their voices carried through the temple too loudly, too clear.  And Jongdae wishes he could cry for their lives, for the loss they all have to endure now, but still he can’t. They all chose their own fate and he is nothing but the instrument to bestow it upon them.  
Something jostles him from the side as he slides out of the now fallen crowd and into the open hallway, his mind glazed over with the smell of blood and the feeling of soft flesh underneath his hands, his clothes sticking to his body with both crimson and sweat and he realizes only then how filthy he feels, how soiled he must be.  There are arms wrapping around his middle, a body colliding with his own and he growls out a sound so animalistic, he nearly doesn’t recognize his own voice anymore as he spins around. His fingers find a tender throat, wrap around an elegant neck and push forward. They crash against a wall, the man in front of him releasing a cut-off, pained little noise as Jongdae hears his head thump against the wall. Y et, even while he is raising his arm, smeared with blood and filth to strike down and end yet another life, he recognizes the voice. Soft, just a little raspy and bitter with tears, hands still tender as they clutch Jongdae’s forearm as if he’s not sure if he wants to pull him closer or push him away. 

“Jongdae.”, Baekhyun grits out through his pained grimace and his eyes are feverish and frantic as they flickering back and forth between his own. “Don’t. It’s - they’re all dead.”  
  
The temple around them is suddenly filled with a silence too loud, pressing into his skull from all sides as he stands there, hand wrapped tightly around Baekhyun’s throat, cutting the air from his lungs and watching his lips shape words that don’t quite reach his ears, as if the sound of them is delayed from the movement of his mouth.  His arm falls, the dagger clattering to the ground as they stand there staring at each other and while Jongdae nearly prayed this feeling would have left by now, it didn’t. He can’t looks away, can’t break away from the pitch black of Baekhyun’s eyes that were once the most beautiful blue Jongdae ever saw in his life. Now, it almost is as if he’s looking at a ghost - a soul that haunted him in his sleep these past nights, an endless week of reaching over to the other side of the bed like he didn’t know Baekhyun was already gone and would, perhaps, never come back to him. 

“Why?”, he whispers and Baekhyun’s eyes crease at the corners, even while his lips are slowly turning purple with the pressure Jongdae is still putting onto his windpipe.   
“You’re bleeding, Jongdae.”, he says instead of an answer, pressing his fingers into a spot on Jongdae’s forearm, where he wasn’t fast enough to dodge an attack.   
“Why didn’t you stay away until it was all over?”, Jongdae demands and his own words are breaking, exhaustion washing over him as if one single look into Baekhyun’s eyes was enough to break through the madness pulsing in his blood.   
“If only you would have been honest with me from the start, I might have never left or not returned to you, like you wanted me to.”, Baekhyun says and he suddenly sounds angry, his hands pushing against Jongdae’s chest hard enough to make him step backwards, his hand finally falling away from the other man’s throat. And the moment is broken, the fog lifting from his mind together with Baekhyun’s angry words, who pushes off the wall with an exhausted frown. “You lied to me, Jongdae. You made me leave and think you’re in danger while all this time, you’ve been  _ part  _ of this!”  
“You wouldn’t have understood.”, Jongdae tells him seethingly, making Baekhyun scoff.

“You didn’t even try, Jongdae.”

“I did.”, he insists, taking yet another step backwards, widening the distance between them. As if the physical gap between them could guard his bruised heart and injured soul. “It seems you never really listened.”  
“No!”, Baekhyun snaps, swiping an arm out between them and Jongdae feels his hands ball into fists - a grim, bitter shadow of the nights in their safehouse, always on his toes while Baekhyun was around. “No. You never really tried. And now look at all of this! Do you think I can… I can trust you after what just happened? That I could - by the gods, Jongdae.”  
“If you say so, Baekhyun.”, he gives back and he hates how exhausted he sounds, how tired and broken. “Judge what I’ve done, if you must. But perhaps one day you can understand that it was necessary. We’ve chosen the lesser evil.”  
He turns, unable to bear the look on Baekhyun’s face any longer. The hurt, the betrayal, the affection mixed into his eyes that are burning with confused rage and remnants of panic.   
“Is this all you have to say?”, Baekhyun suddenly screams behind him and he sounds as if he’s close to crying, the tears already clogging up his voice. “Is this really all?!”  
“Leave me alone, Baekhyun.”, he answers silently and hates how tender the syllables feel, rolling off his tongue. He hates how he can’t seem to stop himself from being relieved at Baekhyun being alive and unharmed - and most of all, with him again.  And a small voice whispers in his head that perhaps he has saved the brotherhood, now, but maybe he just lost his reason to do so. Lost his reason to fight and not lose himself in the gentle, crooning voice whispering into his ear for more blood. 

 

Everything seems to reek of nothing but blood. 

The hallways do, the chambers do, the quarters do. Even his clothes seem to smell, even while he is scrubbing at them furiously, until his fingers are bleeding around his fingernails and there are tears running down his face. He’s cleaned himself several times by now, his skin raw with the soaps and oils and yet he feels as if he can’t get it off of him, as if it clings to his very soul.  
“Stop.”, Jongin whispers beside him, a hand reaching out to grasp his wrist, stopping his frantic scrubbing inside the water bucket, the wooden brush slipping from between his bloody, worn-out fingers almost immediately.   
“Yixing, stop.”, Jongin mutters again and this time, he allows the prophet to pull him away from the bucket and into an embrace that has the tension bleeding from his limbs, his body going slack in the other’s hold and sinking to the floor between his knees, hiding his face in Jongin’s soft stomach.  He used to be nothing but muscle and hard lines, one of their most promising apprentices who rose to power almost as quickly as Minseok did back then - Minseok, born from godly blood and entering the world with hair as black as the night sky. Jongin used to push himself further and further still because of his blood brother, always emulating him as best as he could. And Yixing used to watch from the sidelines, always so helplessly falling short in comparison to the son of a god, who seemed to hold their future in his hands. In the end, Yixing muses through his sobbing, he did.  He held Jongin’s fate and crushed it and now, he decided over the future of the brotherhood like they always said he would. Yixing just doesn’t know if it were for the better or the worse. 

“Did you know?”, he mumbles into Jongin’s stomach, into the wet fabric of his tunic. “Did you know he was planning this, Jongin? Did he tell you?”

“What you’re really trying to ask me”, Jongin replies slowly, his fingers carding through Yixing’s hair softly, twirling the tips around his knuckles, lost in thought. “is if I knew and didn’t tell you.”  
“That.”, Yixing nods, turning his head to the side so he is able to wrap an arm around Jongin’s prone, nearly unmoving body. “So did you?”  
“No.”, Jongin answers him without hesitating and he sounds broken, as if his heart lies in his chest in nothing but shards, small enough to fit through the eye of a needle.   
“No, I didn’t. I’m not sure… if I would have let him. If- if he would have told me about… this. Yixing. If I had known, I would have found a way to solve this - differently.”  
“You couldn’t have.” Yixing tells him silently, his words muffled by the damp fabric underneath his chin. “Not anymore, Jongin. You hold no power over him anymore and you know it. You might… might have been the one for him back then, but your… no, his. His feelings for you changed.”

Jongin is quiet for a few moments, his fingers slowing in Yixing’s hair until they are still all together, his hand lying on the back of Yixing’s head.   
He sighs, then, a sound so deep it wracks through his entire body, jostling Yixing’s head on his lap. 

“I know.”, he confesses then, nearly inaudible. “I know, trust me. He’s not who he used… to be anymore. And while I hate what happened, there was no other way. We can not invite a snake into our house and then wonder why our food is poisoned. And I’m selfish, my heart. I am so selfish I am just thanking the gods now that you and I are still together. I couldn’t help but to wonder, you know? Wonder if Hangeng would have come for one of us, next. If he tried to kill Jongdae… who says he wouldn’t have tried to come after your life as well? Or mine?”  
“It’s not only Hangeng, who died.”, Yixing points out grimly and Jongin pauses, fingers pressing into his scalp in a way that almost hurts.   
“And while I can understand why he had to die… Jongin, why did we allow the other’s to die as well? Why did we allow this? What did they do wrong?”  
“Their only fault”, Jongin answers him patiently and Yixing wonders not for the first time who Jongin would have become, if only life had been different for the both of them. He wonders, while the other man pauses and sits still, his fingers combing tenderly through Yixing’s hair, if Jongin would have been the one to bring bloodshed and violence into their home, if only his legs would work like they used to. He was so strong, back then.   
  
Marvelous in his very own way. 

“Their only fault was their lack of faith and devotion to the creed.”, Jongin concludes his sentence finally and his voice is so silent, Yixing can barely hear him speak anymore.   
“So what does that mean, in the end?”, he hears himself ask and yet it isn’t a question. Not when his voice sounds hollow and final, when he tags on:   
“Are we supposed to never ask and impugn the creed as it is? Change has to happen, Jongin. The world won’t stand still, even if we do.”  
Jongin hums and there is this tone vibrating along the sound of his voice, that tells Yixing that his lover is already deep in thought - so deep, he could as well be talking to the gods in the realm of death.   
“We hold so much power over this world, Yixing.”, he eventually begins and he sighs, so deeply his entire body is shaking with it. “And the creed is the only thing stopping us from abusing this power. We turn into the most horrible creatures, if we fall away from the grace. You know this, don’t you? The burden we all have to carry along the way to godhood? The knowledge of having to purge those, who are unworthy of aspiring, for they will bestow nothing but sorrow and suffering onto mankind.”

Of course Yixing knows. 

He knew long before he made the decision to never strive for the one thing all of them seemed to want when they were nothing but gangly youngsters, dreaming about the day they all would finally obtain immortal life.   
“Perhaps we all deserve to die, then.”, he whispers and feels Jongin’s breath hitch underneath his cheek, feel the other’s voice break rather than he hears it when the other says: “Yes, perhaps. But we are alive and able to change the world. Maybe… maybe there is a reason we are still here.”

Yixing wants to believe that. 

He really wants to and yet, the stench of blood - pungent and bitter sweet - is lingering like it’s clinging to his very soul. And not even Jongin’s gentle embrace can cure him from this sickness, this time. 

 

“It’s not the dead, we should pity.”, Minseok whispers next to him and while Baekhyun wants to flinch away from him, turn his back and leave, he can’t. This feeling of danger, always gnawing at the back of his mind whenever the god was near him, seems to have vanished like fog in the morning light.  He’s left with an empty heart, now - as if someone reached into him and ripped out everything he thought he is. He’s no stranger to feeling like this. But still, he wishes he would have never have to feel it, ever again.   
“It’s the living, who suffer.”, Minseok adds slowly, almost unsure if Baekhyun even listens to him and he feels the god shift next to him, stepping from one foot to the other where they are standing on the low hill overlooking the plane of stone and sand behind the temple, watching the pyres burn.  Hundreds of them, like dots of starlight against the dark backdrop of the night.   
“We are the ones left behind with guilt and broken hearts.”, Baekhyun breathes out and Minseok turns his head, face scanning over his features before he nods slowly, lips pressed into tight lines of white in his even whiter face.   
“We are the ones left behind with nothing but the question what would have happened… if only…”  
“Do you hate us now, little soldier?”  
“I hate you calling me that.”, Baekhyun mutters back and Minseok nearly smiles. There is a twitch to the corner of his mouth, a crease at his eye when he asks again: “Do you hate us now, brother?”  
“Hate you.”, Baekhyun echoes and he sounds thoughtful even to his own ears. Almost bitter. “I don’t know if I am able to hate anybody, Minseok. Maybe I hate that you didn’t trust me enough to fill me in. Or I hate it that I understand why this needed to happen. I don’t… I don’t know.”  
Minseok breathes in, long and deep. He sighs, then, his whole body deflating as his gaze strays to where Jongdae is standing next to Sehun and Han, who is holding Seungwan in a tight embrace, her small body trembling with loud, sobbing cries as Soojung’s body is burning in front of them.   
“We? Or him, Baekhyun?”, he gives back softly and Baekhyun winces, pulling a shoulder up as if he is able to guard his neck from Minseok’s stinging words.   
'“Why do you care?”, he hisses, regretting the sharp tone of his voice the moment Minseok turns towards him, grasping him by the upper arm almost too tightly. They’re already standing so close, Baekhyun can feel the other man’s body heat seep into his own skin and yet, there seems to be an abyss between them, bridged only by the hurt written all over Minseok’s suddenly childlike features.   
"We are the ones who remain, Baekhyun. And  _ you _ , as hard as it might be for you to hear those words, are testament of what… love can do.”, he mutters into the space between them and even while his words are quiet, there is a fire burning inside of them, Baekhyun can’t really understand.  He thinks of Jinsoul suddenly. Of her white hair and gentle eyes, of the little boy she carried in her arms when Baekhyun left them for good. And he remembers her words, the empty throne she said belongs to someone she loves. 

“Who says I love him?”, he bites out and Minseok smiles, this time. But there is something so sad about the pull of his mouth, his eyes glazed over with what can only be tears. 

“You might call me a cruel man, Baekhyun. A monster, maybe, for slaughtering my brothers and sisters and letting all of this happen. But I know love, when I see it. I have loved passionately and unconditionally and I have hurt myself over it.”, he tells him sternly and his fingers dig a little deeper into the muscle of Baekhyun’s upper arm. “I broke my own heart and I became this monster you saw all those months, now. I had no reason to fight, nothing to live for. And Jongdae didn’t have that, for too long.”  
“What do you want from me, Minseok?”, Baekhyun snaps, ripping his arm away from the god’s hold to step away, his eyes flickering to where Jongdae is turning his head to look at them, confused at the sudden noise.   
“I don’t - what am I supposed to say now?”

“Nothing.”, Minseok gives back and all emotion is wiped clean off his tone and face, but his eyes are so terribly sad still, Baekhyun has to avert his gaze from them. “Nothing at all, Baekhyun. But you said so yourself, didn’t you? It’s us, who are left behind and you might not understand… that Jongdae had to kill countless of his friends. On my order, not his own. He agreed with me, yes. And perhaps he should have told you, but I asked him not to. A man following out of love or fear, will sooner or later lose faith and turn his back on the truth. Only those who understand, who feel the truth… are able to bring the change we need. You’ve proven yourself to the brotherhood more than I could have ever asked from you. And we remain in this world, maybe forever.”

“That still doesn’t explain what you want me to do, Minseok.”, Baekhyun whispers and Minseok rolls his eyes, hand falling away from his upper arm as he drags it down his face in exhaustion, his eyes flickering up towards the sky.   
“Jongdae never talks, does he? He even keeps to himself, who he is.”, the other man says with a tired little frown etched around the lines of his mouth, his gaze resting on Jongdae all those feet away on the other end of the dune, head tilted back as if he is looking up at the moon. And yet the sky above them is black - even the stars have veiled themselves in darkness as the pyres burn below. 

“All of you are always speaking in riddles. I’m tired of this.”

“Well.”, Minseok shrugs and makes to turn and leave, his hands folded behind his back.   
“I’m just telling you that Jongdae killed for you. Three times. He killed someone he loved, someone you loved and someone who loved him. Maybe even the only person who ever truly loved him unconditionally.”  
Baekhyun opens his mouth at that, words lingering on the tip of his tongue and yet Minseok lifts a hand at him, cutting him off before he can even begin to speak and his breath catches in his throat at the sharp look the god is giving him. 

“Don’t. Your feelings for him aren’t unconditional, or we wouldn’t have this conversation.”, he all but hisses and this time, Baekhyun flinches away, eyes wide with a fear that has to be as old as the world.  
“Fix it, if you think you love him. Leave him alone, if you think you don’t. But know this,  _ Baekhyun, _ he was willing to fight me for your live. He would have died doing so.”  
As Minseok walks away, Baekhyun can’t help but turn his head and look over at Jongdae, whose gaze is already resting on him as well and for the first time since Baekhyun met him, he looks sad.   
He looks as if his heart is broken into a million pieces - as if the murderer Baekhyun faced the night before was washed away with the blood of their brethren and let behind the hollow shell of a man, who saw too many horrors in his life to ever describe them.  And Baekhyun suddenly thinks that maybe Jongdae never really needed to talk or tell him who he is.  He kind of always knew, from the moment they locked eyes in the desert eight years ago.   
Jongdae told him, all this time and Baekhyun never really listened, too caught up in his own desires and what he wanted. He should have listened, he thinks now as he feels his eyes curl at the corners, eyes burning with tears he can’t cry while Jongdae studies his features across the distance between them that suddenly feels like an endless abyss.  No, Baekhyun realizes, Jongdae told him so many things, wanting him to understand.   
He spoke while Baekhyun ran his fingers over his scars, told him their stories. And he was still speaking when he kept Baekhyun underneath him, only allowing him control with time.   
It was Jongdae’s way of telling him he trusts him and Baekhyun can’t help but ask himself how he could have been too stupid to not see it sooner.  He chose Jongdae a long time ago and maybe - just maybe - Jongdae did as well. 

They just didn’t really see it just yet.  He sees Jongdae open his mouth, then, as if he is about to call out to him and while he hopes he will, the other man stays mum, his eyes flickering back and forth between Baekhyun’s own even with the distance. As if he’s searching for something, anything. 

“He would have died for you.”, Minseok’s words echo inside his mind and the moment between them is broken, Jongdae giving him only a curt nod before he turns back to grasp the hand Seungwan is holding out for him to take. 

Minseok didn’t say it and yet Baekhyun hears it as loudly as if he did: 

Would you have done the same?

 

The desert before him looks the same as it always does, but Jongdae doesn’t feel as if it really is.  There is something that has changed and he can’t put his finger onto it.  He sighs, takes a sip of his wine and set the goblet down by his side, fingers smoothing up the side of the cup to collect the little bit of moisture clinging to it. It feels sticky between his fingers even as he tries to wipe it off on his leg, the fabric of his loose linen pants catching on the rough patches of his fingertips.  Maybe he should be a little more unsettled, he thinks with a wry smile, his eyes fixed onto the horizon where it glows golden with the light of a gentle morning. The air is still heavy with the smoke of the pyres - burning wood and flesh, mixed with the smoldering sand underneath - the temple filed with the voices of the mourning.  They are all servants of death and while they might be just that, they are not celebrate the parting, but life itself. All of them are singing for those moments they laughed and loved and lived with those they bid their farewells too just hours prior.  And while they all are share their mourning, Jongdae chose the solitude of his chambers and the silence of the desert, the songs of their sorrow just the backdrop for his own pain.   
“You are predictable to me already.”, Baekhyun says behind him and Jongdae feels his shoulders go rigid, the air he was just breathing in stuck in his throat and chest, making his heart ache. 

“What does that say about us?”

“I don’t know.”, Jongdae slowly replies without turning to look up at the other man, reaching for his wine. He doesn’t know if it’s an invitation for Baekhyun to sit down next to him and yet when he does, Jongdae doesn’t stop him from doing so - even though they are sitting so close, their sides are pressed together and Jongdae feels as if his skin is suddenly too tight.   
“Maybe I should stay on my toes a little bit more.”, he adds then, surprised by the little bit of humor lacing his words, no matter how hollow his voice sounds to his own ears. “Or what do you think?”  
Baekhyun shrugs, their bodies moving against each other and Jongdae looks over at him - at the outline of his face against the gold of the desert surrounding Jongdae’s terrace.   
He looks like a part of the mosaics of the temple, framed in light as he is right now and Jongdae feels his heart twinge with agony and desire to touch. He knows he’s staring and yet when Baekhyun tips his head downwards, his eyes flickering over towards him, he doesn’t look away.  There is no use in hiding it, he thinks while one side of his mouth twitches upwards.  Baekhyun smiles back. 

“Minseok says the order declared open war on us.”, Baekhyun starts then and Jongdae hums out his answer, their eyes still locked together even with the other’s head still turned away just a little.   
“How will we win with half of…. us gone?”

“Is that really what you want to talk about now, Baekhyun?”, Jongdae asks him instead of replying, tongue wetting over his bottom lip and Baekhyun’s gaze following the movement. “Really?”  
The other shrugs again, but there is a smile on his lips, wide and sad and Jongdae suddenly wants to kiss him. He wants to lean over and take his face between his hands, cup his cheeks and lock their lips together and he can’t remember if he ever felt like this before in his entire life.   
“I was scared for you.”, Baekhyun whispers and Jongdae feels his fingers brush over his knee, curl into the fabric of his pants and hold on even while neither of them moves. “While I was gone.”  
“I’m sorry.”, Jongdae breathes out and Baekhyun’s smile grows a tiny bit sadder.  There is a moment of silence between them, their eyes lingering before Jongdae allows himself to reach out and lay his hand over Baekhyun’s, fingertips pushing into the spaces in between.  “Is that an apology for making me worry about you…or for more than just that?”  
“Everything.”, Jongdae replies honestly and feels the back of Baekhyun’s free hand brush against his cheekbone, just underneath his eye.   
He leans into the touch, letting one of his eyes fall shut and sees Baekhyun’s eyes crease at the corners.   
“They will come.”, Jongdae tells him finally, after heartbeats trickling by of them just sitting in silence, Baekhyun’s hand cupping his cheek and their fingers laced together on top of Jongdae’s knee.   
“For the war. All of them will come.”  
“I already guessed.”, Baekhyun confesses with a chuckle, adding silently: “I was just trying to… talk.”  
Jongdae shakes his head then, reaching up to grasp the other’s chin with two of his fingers, tipping his head up so he is able to lean in and press a tiny, fleeting kiss to the corner of his mouth.  
“I should have told you.”, he mutters against Baekhyun’s, feeling the other man’s eyelashes brush up against his cheek, as he blinks. “But I wanted you to follow me into this because you wanted to.”  
“I will follow you into a war against the order. Did you not think I wouldn’t?”  
“Perhaps I was hoping.”, Jongdae laughs, feeling Baekhyun’s fingers run across the side of his face and into his hair, holding their foreheads together when he finally turns his head and closes his eyes.   
They sit, like that, as the sun is rising around them and bathing them in the warmth of a better day.  A better future, even.   
“Jongdae”, Baekhyun starts then, so silently he almost misses the words spoken into the shared breath between them.  “Are you ready for this war?”  
He always was, Jongdae thinks but still the answer is a different one. While he was raised to fight in this war, hidden in the shadows and took countless lives doing so, there was no reason for him to do so. He never had a reason to fight other than the creed and the god singing inside of his chest, whenever the blood of the innocent sang in joy, echoing in his soul.   
“Am I forgiven?”, he asks and Baekhyun rolls the eyes even though Jongdae can barely see them, what with how close their face are.   
“I will understand this one day. And… I think we both know we’ve chosen each other, years before we even knew each other’s names.”  
Jongdae laughs, silently and sudden and then Baekhyun’s lips are on his, their hands tangling between them where they are sitting too close to each other.   
“How could I not be?”, Jongdae eventually replies when their lips part, the words whispers into Baekhyun’s mouth so gently, they are barely there. “With you by my side.”


	17. Bonus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what happens when my beta reader A sends me gifs of Jongdae rolling around on the floor.   
> Whoever knows which one I mean will understand my suffering and why I had to write this in the middle of actually working on the story.   
> I'm not sure at which point this ties into the story - perhaps it's some time after everything happens. We really REALLY don't know, since this was never an actual part of the main story line. 
> 
> ALSO: I am considering a Minseok stand-alone kind-of-prequel. Would anybody be interested?

Days in the desert feel endless - scaldingly hot, the air too dry and the blood in his veins pumping too quickly. But they feel even longer, when the sun stretches out her golden fingers across orange glowing sand, as if she’s setting the dunes on fire. Or perhaps, it’s just this day, spread thin with each minute ticking by, shadows growing longer as Baekhyun’s skin grows tighter.  He’s sitting here for days now, laid out across the pillows and rugs and furs draped over the edge of the terrace, just outside of Jongdae’s chambers. He has his own, on he other side of the baths, circular with a brilliantly shining skylight, but he prefers the cold and serenity of the master assassin’s room, spends hours sitting on the soft silken pillows to watch the sun set behind burning dunes and painting the sky a million colors he has no name for. He blinks and they are gone, replaced by darker hues that remind him of the tiny petals floating in his wine, clinging to the gold and the jewels across the rim, whenever they catch on his lips, brushed off against the goblet with the tip of his tongue.  The taste was strange and foreign to him at first, even on Jongdae’s lips, mixed with this something that is so sweet on the other’s tongue. Bitter even with the sugar of the wine, tangy even when mixed with honey and mint leafs. But now they’re something he almost misses when they’re not added to his drink to calm him. They’re intoxicating, even more than the burning lavender Jongdae’s room always smells like. He startles at the sound of the beads veiling the entrance to the chambers rattle, head turning on instinct towards the noise. It’s Jongdae, returned from a bath Baekhyun knows by now he always takes at night after his training. He’s never allowed to watch, to accompany him. The thought comes with a pout, before he catches him and Jongdae lifts a quizzical eyebrow at him, as he leaves a trail of wet footsteps across the slightly dusty floor. The desert is still damp with the storms, the rain cleansing the air and leaving it cool against Baekhyun’s face, but it feels impossible hot.

Jongdae’s naked, safe for a tightly woven towel, wrapped artfully around his hips. 

He’s still slightly wet, hair dripping rivulets of water down over his face and neck, liquid pooling in the dips of his collarbones and the hollow of his throat. It still looks like a star to Baekhyun, the little scar Jongdae has there.   
“Are you trying to become a lizard, sunbathing all the time?”, the older man asks him and although his voice is almost completely void of emotion, he’s clearly teasing By now, Baekhyun knows the lilt of his words, the tilt of his head and the stretch of his lips when they curl up at the corners so faintly, it’s barely there.   
“Perhaps I am questioning my life choices.”, Baekhyun says, turning his head away while Jongdae runs a hand down over his own chest, shaking off the water and leaving a set of dark spots on the wooden planks of the terrace.   
“Is that so, Baekhyun?”, he hears Jongdae ask to his right, hearing the pillows rustle when the man sits down slowly, letting his feet dangle down across the edge, barely high enough to not brush the burning sand underneath. He’s drunk, Baekhyun thinks when his eyes, instead of watching the sunset as he planned earlier, travel over the flex of Jongdae’s thigh, just visible in his peripheral vision. He knows how those muscles feel under his palms, under his lips even.  And yet they never captivated his attention as much as they do right now. He’s distracted, lips running over his lips as if to wet them, although they’re sticky with wine and lilac petals. 

It’s Jongdae’s low, rumbling laughter that rips his gaze away and he feels his face heat. 

“I’ve been sunbathing for days, but my skin doesn’t get darker.”, he blurts out, if only to escape the weight of Jongdae’s gaze, that glint with amusement despite his heavy lids.  The assassin lying only just shy outside of his reach, lifts an eyebrow, the edge of his eyebrow shooting upwards for just a second. It’s so quick, this quirk of his lips up into a grin, Baekhyun nearly thinks his wine-sluggish mind only imagined it.   
“Have you not noticed, how pale I am in comparison to you?”, Jongdae asks him silently and Baekhyun flexes his fingers, looks down at them where they rest on his knees. The insides of his wrists were always so much lighter than the rest of him. Now, even after exposing them to the sun so mercilessly, they are the same shade of cremè.  
“Do you need something as a contrast, Baekhyun?”, comes the purring chuckle he hates so much, having his eyes snapping up to Jongdae’s face - who’s watching him with this hint of humor, mixed with something else that is almost challenging. “You can see just how quickly the color is draining out of you, of course. I volunteer.”  
“You’re drunk.”, Baekhyun mumbles into his goblet, looking away pointedly and Jongdae’s laughter runs down his spine like warm water, pooling hotly in the pit of his stomach, making him squirm. Why does he always have to say his name like that? Letting the syllables slide off his tongue in a way that makes Baekhyun’s own name sound sinful to his ears.   
“Are my eyes darker too, Jongdae?”, he inquires, nearly quips and dares to look over. He catches Jongdae rolling over just then, angling his body to the side with his eyes closed and the most gentle of smiles curving his lips. He looks soft, wet hair falling into his forehead, expression unguarded for once and he looks pliant, even with the sinewy muscles stretching underneath his marked, scar-littered forearms. He pushes a hand underneath his own head, eyes intently trained on Baekhyun’s face.  And Baekhyun sits there, staring and stupefied, as he watches Jongdae turns over even further, soft eyes turning sharp and hot and hooded, his other arms sliding up above his head.   
  
“You’re staring an awful lot today. Are you sure, you’re not as drunk as I am?”, Jongdae all but purrs and Baekhyun’s fingers slip on his goblet, tipping off to the side.   
The wine spills over a blanket, the golden cup rolling off the terrace and thudding into the sand. Neither of them cares.   
“Come here.”, Jongdae commands, words wrapped into velvet and satin, but hard and unyielding. And Baekhyun follows, obeys him without hesitating. The hand Jongdae doesn’t have pushed under his head lifts easily, grabbing Baekhyun by the nape of his neck to drag him down into a kiss.  The angle is awkward, putting a strain onto his upper body, but Jongdae’s lips are delicious.  Soft, melting against his own as if they were made to kiss him like this. Demanding, beckoning him closer and closer still. Baekhyun pushes - pushes into the other’s lips, into his hand and onto his body, leaning down until Jongdae’s shoulder is digging into his sternum and he can barely breathe.   
He doesn’t know how long they’re kissing like this, but it feels too short and too long at the same time, until Jongdae finally turns over underneath him, wrapping a strong muscled arm around Baekhyun’s torso, bringing him so close, they breathe in the same rhythm. Baekhyun feel his heartbeat, so much calmer than his own and he would be embarrassed, would it not be for Jongdae’s teeth nipping along his bottom lip, tongue teasing him until he falls for the taunt and gives in.  Jongdae’s fingers are gentle in his hair - his lips aren’t in their onslaught to his mouth, blurring over Baekhyun’s already hazy thoughts. He drinks up the hiss Jongdae breathes into the space between them when Baekhyun rakes his fingernails down his chest, over the ridges of his scars, skirting just around a sensitive, jeweled areola. He’s greedy for those sounds, for all the tiny noises Jongdae pushes back into Baekhyun’s mouth with his tongue. They shift when Jongdae sits up, Baekhyun’s legs falling against his sides and bracketing the other’s hips almost naturally, fingers gliding over twitching abdominals, over the taut lines that frame Jongdae’s hip bones, brushing over the edge of the towel still protecting his modesty. As much as it can, what with the way Baekhyun feels the other grow against his thigh, twitching with each involuntary push and pull of Baekhyun’s bottom against Jongdae’s lap.   
  
“You gave me enough proof.”, Baekhyun barely breathes out, air stuck in his throat and rolling stiffly over his tongue, when Jongdae slides their mouths apart to kiss down over the edge of Baekhyun’s jaw, sucking on a tender spot beside his pulse point, just were the bone is right beneath the skin.  “I’m- ah - very sure it’ll still take a lot more time for the colors to fade, don’t you think? We can get a sunburn even when the transformation is comple-”  
Jongdae’s mouth is hot on his, tongue insistent as he sucks the words right out of him, breaking him off and making him lose track of what he intended to say. “  
“You like the sound of your own voice too much.”, Jongdae tells him darkly, teeth bruising across Baekhyun’s throat and he whimpers, shame shooting down his spine at the noise that is too loud around them, even with their bated breaths mixing together.  “I’ll make you moan, if you like it so much, Baekhyun.”   
The promises is dark - a spark of thrilled panic whispering through him when he remembers the very hands that dance down his waist, gripping around his thighs to pull him closer, squeezing the air from his lungs, ready to kill him. It’s a constant fire that flickers between them, the scars they painted onto their bodies, time and time again. There’s blood on his lip, when Jongdae leans back and looks up at him, one hand still pulling. But the other reaches up, up, up, thumb pressing down over Baekhyun’s plush bottom lip to pull it out of his mouth, from between his teeth. The red on his thumb shimmers in the light of the setting sun somewhere behind them, disappearing with a flick of his tongue and Baekhyun moans in careless desire at the sight. At the feeling of Jongdae, heavy and hot, pressing up against him so deliciously. He feels himself pulse with it, gyrating his hips forward just to feel more of Jongdae on his thigh, brushing up between Baekhyun’s legs and dragging over his own length almost painfully lustful.   
“There you go.”, Jongdae whispers into his ear, voice so low it feels as if he’s growling, the vibrations of his words pushing through Baekhyun’s bones, traveling up his arms from where his palms are pressed against the other man’s chest so hard, his fingernails are ripping into his skin.  “That’s better, isn’t it?”  
“Shut up.”, Baekhyun snaps back, but there is no heat in his voice, no real bite and Jongdae laughs, all languid and lazy-sounding. When he leans back up into their kiss, Baekhyun is already surging forward for more, scraping greedy fingers through pitch black hair that is just a tad darker than his.  It feels damp but smooth, as if he’s touching the fabric of the night sky slowly spanning above them.  He wants to touch Jongdae so desperately, he’s clumsy with the desire for it, fumbling with the knot of the towel until it falls open easily, Jongdae’s breath stuttering against Baekhyun’s tongue. 

He tastes like lilacs and honey, bitter just the right amount. 

“Bed.”, Jongdae rasps out, but Baekhyun shakes his head resolutely, tugging on the other’s lip with the sharp edges of his teeth, until Jongdae finally lets out that sound he’s been waiting for.  
It’s not a groan, not quite a moan. It’s a cut-off sound, clearly born from years of staying silent. Swallowing down every noise, no matter what. He preens with the knowledge that Jongdae can’t stay silent with him, smirking into the lick he runs against the corner of Jongdae’s mouth. Collecting the taste of lilac wine that came from his own lips.   
“No.”, he tells Jongdae silently and yet his voice sounds so loud to his own ears. Jongdae’s gaze is confused for just a second, the split heartbeat it takes for Baekhyun to lay two of his fingers onto his lip. And Jongdae just opens his mouth, so willingly letting the man atop his lap push the digits onto his tongue, lips wrapping around Baekhyun’s knuckles with wet, warm pleasure. They both moan, albeit so silently, Baekhyun barely catches it.   
He feels Jongdae’s tongue run between his fingers, slick and heady and he wants to look down to watch how Jongdae’s lips stretch around the digits pressing down against his palette, but he can’t.  
He can’t look away from the other man’s eyes, from the way they burn up into his soul until he feels as if he’s going to melt.   
“Stop.”, Baekhyun moans brokenly when Jongdae sucks with vigor, just the hint of a smirk dancing in his eyes. “Open up, Jongdae.”  
He does, amused and satisfied with his handiwork, hands instantly going to the statch tied across Baekhyun’s waist to keep his long tunic constricted around his hip. His undergarments are nothing more than pieces of cloth, artfully draped and he wonders for only a moment, how easy it is for Jongdae to push them aside, thumb brushing over Baekhyun’s entrance in a stroke too hard to be teasing, while his fingers run along his perineum. He sighs, head tipping back as Jongdae starts circling his finger, never breaching but painting hot trails into Baekhyun’s mind that grow hotter and hotter with the second.   
“Who would have thought you’d ever be so desperate for my touch?”, he hears Jongdae ask and he hisses, reaching behind himself to slap the teasing hand away, replacing it with his own to instantly sink a finger into himself, eyes opening to lock onto the ones already waiting for him.   
“So full of yourself.”, he shoots back - and although there’s anger simmering in his belly, there’s so much arousal it sizzles into nothing. Perhaps it’s the way Jongdae’s looking up at him, cheeks pink and lips swollen and raw from their kisses, or the arm that wraps around him, keeping him close to the hard, welcoming body in front of him.   
“Assassin.”, he manages to get out around a sigh when Jongdae leans forward, nosing up across his throat and jawline, lips nothing but feathers and butterflies against his heated skin.   
  
He hears him laugh, then - rumbling, crashing, like a wave in the harbor of Baekhyun’s hometown. 

It makes the feeling of his second finger pushing deep so much more pleasurable, ripping by far the loudest sound out of him.   
“Mhm.”, Jongdae just makes, fingertips skitting over Baekhyun’s bare inner thigh, tender to the touch and twitching at the tickling sensation. “If you think so, Baekhyun.”  
It’s this sentence, Baekhyun thinks bearily, lip between his teeth as he all but rides his own fingers, until he can barely move anymore, the slide of the saliva burning up. It’s always been this sentence.   
Jongdae is patient, even when Baekhyun sicks two of his fingers beyond his lips, this time guiding the other’s hands between his legs to take over, clinging desperately to his shoulders as he’s worked open on fingers so much thicker than his, the different angle having him sigh in bliss.  Damn the assassin, damn all the people he was with before who taught him, what he knows to play so perfectly on Baekhyun’s body. He’s the instrument, making music in Jongdae’s arms underneath a star lit sky.  And Jongdae’s still patient when Baekhyun presses him down onto the rugs, the pillows and furs, sinking down onto him with a sound that mirrors Jongdae’s own. He marvels in the way blunt fingernails bite into his thighs as he gyrates his hips, undulating in Jongdae’s lap, pulling the sweetest sounds from him. They fuel his fire, make him bolt enough to run his fingers over Jongdae’s pierced nipple, which has the man groaning in shocked pleasure, hips thrusting up into Baekhyun involuntarily. Their rhythm is sloppy that night - not as gentle as it was when Jisoo found her end, not as violent when Jongdae wrapped his hand around Baekhyun’s throat and he had moaned in answer to the touch. It’s raw lust, pulsing between, an exchange of control as Jongdae paints bruises across his hips, helping and guiding his rolling his hips. And Baekhyun takes what he wants, gripping Jongdae’s thigh behind himself to steady his body, eyes closed and mouth open until he imagines the other whispering his name.  And perhaps he always loved the way Jongdae’s muscles pulled so tense under his sweat glistening skin, how they flexed under Baekhyun’s gaze and fingertips, how the veins in his neck bulge like ropes, pumping visibly with blood. But it’s the expression on his face that has Baekhyun’s mouth drop open, body losing his rhythm as he tried to pull Jongdae up into a searing kiss. Their teeth clack, their lips taste like blood - but he needs this. He needs the kiss right now and maybe Jongdae does too, because he kisses back with just as much vigor, forearm pressing into Baekhyun’s lower back as his other hand steadies them on the terrace. They ripple together like water, lips searching for every patch of skin they can reach, breaths mingling.  And Baekhyun can do nothing but hold on to Jongdae, arm around his neck and hand around his own length. He ends up holding the other man like that, Jongdae’s forehead against his collarbone while they lose beat after beat of their dance. He feels stretched thin around Jongdae, held together only by the seams and Jongdae’s whispered words of nothing, his arms and lips.  He feels Jongdae fall apart beneath him with a violent tremble, throbbing so deeply inside of him - he cries out, clinging to the strong shoulders shuddering through their release. Jongdae’s hand slaps against his own, fingers lacing through his own and he twitches, sucks in violent gasps of air. Before he, too, slips over the edge. He whines, wanting to be close than he already is, sensitive with his bliss and for once he can ignore the lazy smile on Jongdae’s mouth as his chin is tipped and there’s a gentle mouth on his own, kissing the frantic heartbeats out of his head and chest.   
“Wasn’t that a lot better than talking?”, Jongdae asks after a couple of breathless moments, their kisses slowing and growing heartbreakingly tender with each press of lips against lips.   
“It would be nice, if you would stop talking for once.”, Baekhyun muses loudly, wincing when Jongdae pinches his side. The back of his hand glides smoothly across Jongdae’s cheek then, painting the sharp bone with tenderness. “Where’s my stoic assassin?”

Jongdae just laughs, soft and drunk and blissed out.

 


End file.
